


You Win or You Hide, or, The Adventures of Charlie and Chuck in the Mysterious Kingdom

by reading_is_in



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, F/F, M/M, Semi-Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:09:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 27,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reading_is_in/pseuds/reading_is_in
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Good King is dead, and the cunning Lord Crowley holds the realm. The legendary Knights Winchester are sent away by trickery, and Charlie Bradbury, Page, and Chuck Shurley, jester, have one hope: to find the Knights, and with their aid restore the true Prince Castiel to the North.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how this happened. Wait, actually, I have a pretty good idea. This is what happens when I get sucked into Game of Thrones whilst desperately awaiting Season 9 of Supernatural. Semi-crack AU. Probably ¾ crack tbh.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: characters belong to Eric Kripke/CW, who love fanfic. Any similarity of setting to G.R.R.M’s Game of Thrones is certainly not co-incidental, but easily constitutes fair use. Not for profit.

If Charlie were the hero of this story, she would have warned the knights Winchester about Lord Crowley’s treachery the moment she suspected it. When had she first suspected it? Probably years ago, deep down – the first time she met him even. Certainly long before he became the King’s Chief Advisor. Unfortunately, Charlie was no hero, so when Crowley dispatched her to summon the Winchester brothers, she merely obeyed him. She knocked politely at their chambers, but got no answer, and one of the maids directed her to the archery range. 

“Has he arranged for our execution?” asked Sir Samuel dryly. His breath made white mist in the cold air.

“Um, no?” Charlie offered, rubbing her hands together. “I mean – not that I know of.”

“Like he could pull that off,” Sir Dean snarled, and released his arrow too jerkily. He cursed at it hit above the bullseye. Sir Samuel raised an eyebrow and his brother glared at him. It was commonly known that whilst Sir Dean was the superior rider and swordsman of the brothers Winchester, Sam could usually best him at archery. Sir Samuel was considered the more genteel and scholarly knight, which reasonably, Charlie thought, ought to make him her favourite. In truth, though, she had a definite soft spot for the rough and outspoken Sir Dean: she believed him to be a kind man, and honest, steadfastly loyal to the King and the Prince Castiel. When Charlie were eventually forced to marry, she hoped it could be to a man of that sort. He might even be understanding of her – affliction.

In truth, at her age, she should be married already. She wasn’t a girl anymore. But her parents were dead, she had no family, and her marriage wouldn’t benefit anybody. She looked young, and she was a good page. For the moment - touch iron – nobody was bothered enough about her to tell her to put a dress on.

The Winchesters put away their bows, grudgingly and with deliberate slowness. They headed for the keep. Charlie paused, considered, than ran after them, hurrying to match their long strides. The knights shed their furred cloaks as soon as they entered the fire-warmed castle, handing them off to stewards. Charlie stamped clinging snow from her boots. 

Lord Crowley’s chambers were sumptuously appointed. The broad wooden doors were hinged and edged with silver, and mosaic tiles set around them depicted the Dragon, the sigil of his House, soaring in battle at the side of the Eagle, the sigil of the King.

“Come!” he commanded as Sir Dean raised a hand to knock.

“What the – how does he _do_ that?” Sir Dean exclaimed.

Charlie glanced up and down the empty corridor and gulped. Lord Crowley had eyes everywhere. Impulsively, she reached out, put a hand on Sir Dean’s arm. He looked down at her. Charlie held his gaze, not brave enough to say anything but hoping she could put ‘be careful’ into her expression, ‘he’s planning something’. Sir Dean nodded shortly. Charlie dropped her head, allowing her red fringe to fall in front of her eyes.

Charlie entered Crowley’s chambers ahead of her charges and bowed low:

“Sir Dean and Sir Samuel of Winchester, my lord,” she announced, a sweep of her hand heralding the knights. One advantage to being a Page was access to most places. In this way, Charlie liked to think, she heard and saw enough to know her enemies from her friends.

“Ah!” said Lord Crowley, smiling nastily. He stood, clapped his hands together, and came around his wide oak desk to greet his visitors. The Winchesters bowed, as slightly as they could get away with.

“You sent for us my Lord?” Sir Dean glared.

“Yes, yes. I have here a letter for Lord Azazel of the Southlands.” Crowley brandished a scroll closed with his wax seal. “Deliver it to him.”

Sir Samuel raised his eyebrows expressively. The Good King had no business with Azazel, a cruel Lord, who kept his holdings in the fiery Southlands. It was a sevennight’s hard ride to Azazel’s castle and a sevennight’s back: hardly the sort of errand to spare one Kingdom’s best knights, leave alone two. 

“Why don’t you send your steward?” Sir Dean asked, and waited a beat too long before adding, “My Lord.”

“Because I’m sending you,” smiled Lord Crowley. “Both of you. State business you know. Terribly important to have people you trust.”

A weighted pause. Lord Crowley was the second most powerful man in the Kingdom and the King’s confidante. His record of service was impeccable, unwavering for over thirty years. And yet. Charlie didn’t trust him, and she knew the Winchesters didn’t either. He’d made his dislike for them known in multiple subtle ways, little put-downs, tasks inappropriate to their station. Charlie worked hard to keep him from noticing her. There was no way for Samuel and Dean to refuse his order.

“As you will, my Lord,” said Sir Samuel tightly. The knights bowed and Crowley dismissed them. 

“You boy, get me some wine,” he said shortly to Charlie. She did as she was told.

*

Prince Castiel was walking in the gardens, alone, and Charlie was spying a little bit. She had a secret idea about the Prince, and though to even think it was probably treason, she couldn’t help but observe that ever since Sir Dean’s departure with his brother the previous evening, the Prince had been…melancholy. Or more melancholy than usual, blue eyes sad and reflective. The Prince was a very handsome man, much admired both by noble ladies at home and princesses abroad, but despite the pressure from the King and public to marry and get an heir, the Prince remained determinedly a bachelor.

Castiel stopped by the Glass Lake to observe the icy water. Spring was coming, and the snowdrops were starting to bud at the shores as the surface thawed and cracked. Ice broke to prisms, making rainbows, but the Prince seemed scarcely to notice the sight.

“Hello Charlie,” he said.

Charlie almost jumped out of her skin, and fell head-first into the hedge she was – sort of – lurking behind.

“I – um – my lord – “ she stammered, springing up and brushing twigs from her cloak:

“It’s alright,” a hint of a smile curved the Prince’s mouth. “You are not on duty?”

“No,” said Charlie quickly. “If I was I would be on duty. I mean I’d be working. I mean-”

“Come here,” said the Prince. Charlie stood before him and bowed. “You are troubled.”

Yes. She was very troubled, and afraid of Lord Crowley, and she wanted the Winchesters to come back and look out for the Prince. 

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“Charlie,” the Prince narrowed his eyes, considering. “You are to serve at the banquet tomorrow night, yes?”

“Yes my Lord.”

The Prince sighed. “Charlene Bradbury, you are young, but your soul is pure and your heart is faithful. I would not see you in endangered.”

“Endangered? How-?”

“You are my friend,” the Prince reached out a gloved hand and clasped her shoulder. “I think we both know that I have few friends remaining.”

‘He knows,’ Charlie realised, staring into the Prince’s face. ‘He knows that Lord Crowley is going to  
betray the Eagle’.

“But – your guards, and the King’s Watch, and-“

“It’s been a cruel season. We are sheltered behind these walls, Charlie, but outside the people are hungry. 

There is unrest in the east and the north. Many tongues sow discord.”  
Charlie could feel her face crumpling. The peaceful life she had known seemed to be collapsing around her.

“The Eagle does not command the fealty of yesteryear,” the Prince said gently. “Charlie, I would not see you hurt. Do not come to the banquet tomorrow night. I promise you – no-one will be counting the servants.”

“But – what about _you_?” Charlie said. “I don’t want to see _you_ hurt either!”

“I must serve my liege,” Castiel said resignedly. “Royal birth has its curses.”

“But they-“ she wanted to say, ‘they’ll kill you’, but was afraid to say the words out loud. The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirked up, sadly. Charlie thought he was still too young to look so sad.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“You can run,” he suggested, then drew himself to his full height: “Charlene Bradbury, you have served the Eagle faithfully, as have your parents before you. I, Castiel Prince of the North, hereby release you from your service to my Household, and all the duties and obligations entailed therein. Accept this gift in token of my gratitude for your service.” He handed her a small cloth bag that clinked with coins and a few other objects. Then he sighed, and seemed to shrink visibly with the close of the formal words. “You are a free woman, Charlie. Good luck.”

Charlie gripped the bag. “But I don’t know where to go,” she said quietly, though the seed of a mad idea was taking place already in her mind, but she wasn’t looking at it, not yet.

“My cousin Gabriel has a small stronghold by the Summer Mountains,” Castiel said. “There is a letter for him in the bag. He is not a rich man, and his ways are….unorthodox, but he is kind at heart.” 

“Then why isn’t he here?” Charlie exclaimed, “Helping?!”

Castiel looked rueful. “There is nothing to help with. Officially. Besides,” he sighed, “It would make little difference. Gabriel commands few men, and his first allegiance is to his own safety. He will aid his friends, but I know him too well to believe he would die for them.”

Charlie bit her lips. She felt as though she would cry at any moment. She looked down at the bag in her hand, and then up at Castiel.

“Pack your things,” he said quietly, in a tone that let her know she was dismissed.

*

In the end, she couldn’t leave without seeing what happened. She didn’t _help_ \- not that she could have – but she was hiding on a balcony concealed by a heavy curtain. Lord Creedy denounced the King as a traitor and the cause of famine in the outlands he held. Crowley was too subtle to do it himself of course: he’d clearly been working on the weaker man, had him in his cups, and soon half the lords of the provinces were in arms against the King, and Charlie was gaping, horrified at the thinness of their loyalty. Crowley slid his rapier into the King from behind, and Charlie believed that in the thick of the fight, she was the only one who saw it. And then he looked up. In that instant, his dark eyes held hers like a snake transfixing a rabbit, and he sneered, said something to one of his henchmen who nodded and made for the staircase.

‘He’s coming to kill me’, Charlie thought, and unfroze, darting down the corridor and out by the servants’ staircase with no horse, weapon, food or water, but only the bag of coins clinking under her shirt.  
It was only later she realized she hadn’t seen the Prince die.

 

*

“And be it known, that so following this vile treachery, Lord Alistair Crowley, Chief Advisor to the King, declares himself the Regent and Protector of the Realm until such time as the Prince return or, God prevent it, be known dead.”

The crowd murmured and grumbled.

“What’s he gonna do about the granary?” an anonymous man shouted. Charlie wove carefully through the crowd, keeping her head low and her hood over her face. It was the first thing she’d bought after fleeing the castle, before a wineskin and a room for the night. That was easy. The inns were buzzing with news of the battle at the castle, and the people were pouring into the streets to see what was happening. She hadn’t slept a wink, but sat on her bunk by the light of a single candle, fingering the scroll the Prince had given her and trying not to wonder how he had died.

Now her head snapped up: “Return?” she asked the woman in front of her, a stern-looking matron in the lined cloak of a well-to-do innkeeper or blacksmith’s wife.

“Aye,” said the matron. “Have you not heard? The prince fled in the night without so much as a royal guard, and after the traitors was put down too.” She shook her head, and though it could not be voiced, Charlie could see the indictment of cowardice written all over her face. Charlie frowned:

“Well what else could he do?”

“Why take up his hereditary seat!” chimed in a younger a man, “And not leave his responsibilities to such as the good Lord Crowley to manage! Did you know the Lord Crowley himself stabbed the King’s killer?”

“In the back,” someone murmured.

“In the chest,” the young man asserted.

Charlie felt like bursting. On the one hand, the Prince had escaped. On the other, half the people believed that Crowley had saved the day, and put the rebellion down whilst the Prince ran like a dog with his tail tucked under. The herald who had spoken stepped down.

“Treachery is the most heinous of crimes,” said Crowley solemnly. He was sitting in an ornate chair with the royal sceptre folded across his lap. He wore no crown – yet – but a thin circlet of gold sat nestled in his dark hair. Charlie ground her teeth to see it. “There can be but one punishment. Lords Redd and Kenton, it was your misfortunate to survive last night, unlike the rest of the traitors,” he shook his head. Charlie’s eyes went to the kneeing men on the other side of the dais. Their heads were bowed, hands chained behind their backs, and Crowley’s men held swords at their backs. ‘Say something’, Charlie urged mentally, ‘Tell them Crowley set you up!’. Then Lord Redd of the Burnt Hills raised his head and his mouth opened, and she  
understood why they didn’t speak.

Crowley had taken their tongues first. Well, naturally.

“Your confessions were taken from you in the dawn hours,” said Crowley solemnly. “Then you admitted the full extent of your terrible crimes, how you plotted the vile murder of His Grace beneath the traitor Lord Creedy-“  
At that there was the faintest murmur in the crowd. Creedy’s reputation was that of a weak man, and slow-witted. Not the most likely candidate to engineer a King’s death. Crowley silenced the crowd with a sharp glance.

“ – and your serpent’s tongues removed thereafter, lest the vile poison of your words spread any further.”

At that the crowd rumbled approvingly.

“Now in the sight of God and man, let the full extent of justice be exacted upon you,” Crowley’s voice rang. He did, Charlie must admit, have the theatrics of a King: “My lord executioner: off with their heads.”

The crowd cheered. Charlie winced. If she lived a hundred years, she would never understand the bloodthirstiness of some of her fellows. The executioner, black-hooded, stepped up and bowed to Crowley. The crowd’s noise rose. Terror was clear in Redd’s face, but Kenton kept his head bowed, unreadable. Charlie watched transfixed as the executioner raised his axe, but her eyes slammed shut involuntarily as metal met bone, and half of the crowd’s cheers turned to gasps whilst the other half cheered louder. She kept her eyes tight shut through the second swing, but the thud of the head landing on the dais and bouncing was inescapable.

“Justice is served,” said Lord Crowley, shaking the tiniest droplets of blood from the edge of his robes. “I declare this evening a feast to honour our beloved King, and praise God for the defeat of the traitors and restoration of peace in the realm.”

The crowd’s cheers were weaker this time. Someone shouted,

“What of the Prince?”

“Riders are sent to the Four Corners of the Kingdom to seek him,” said Lord Crowley.

‘I just bet they are!’ Charlie thought. Suddenly she knew where she was going. The Lord Gabriel in his mountain stronghold would have to wait. Castiel still had friends, two at least, and luckily Charlie knew the road on which to find them.

*

“The Southland Courts, you say! My, my, my. That’s no place for a pretty thing like you. You don’t know what they’re like to young girls in Azazel’s court. ” The cart driver leaned back on his seat and relaxed the reigns. He was an older man with a large belly and the roughened hands of a labourer. The back of his cart was filled with rough sacks of vegetables and grain, his horses of the sturdy farming type. He had a slow way of speech and an unhurried manner: “No, that’s not the sort of thing you’d have any experience in.”

“I don’t want to live there,” Charlie told the cart driver through gritted teeth. “Just to get there.”

“Sorry darlin’….wouldn’t want to get mixed up in any of that. They say he’s as cruel to simple folk as his whims take him. Not every ruler is kind as the Good King, God bless and rest his soul. No, no, not at all. The Lord Azazel is quite another type.”

“How about half way?” Charlie asked desperately, “Or just – as far as you’re going.” At this rate, she’d be meeting the knights Winchester on their way _back_ from court in any case. “I can pay,” she jingled the bag of coins, which, it had fast turned out, hadn’t made her as wealthy a woman as she’d thought they did. Charlie had never had any money, but conversely, food, shelter and clothing had been provided for her. It seemed she had little idea of the price of things, and how quickly they added up. And even if she could buy a horse, bridle and all the accoutrements, she was starting to realize that nobody without a sword and armour travelled alone.

“Well now, I might be inclined to take you half way,” said the cart driver, and Charlie perked up, “Were it not that my road lies eastward instead of south.”  
Charlie gaped a little. 

“Well why didn’t you just _say_ that?” she exclaimed.

“Now, now, now, young lady, there’s no need to be rude,” said the cart driver slowly, and Charlie threw her hands up and spun around. In her exasperation, she didn’t manage to stop herself colliding with the person behind her.

“Charlie!”

“ _Chuck?_ ” she exclaimed, as they untangled themselves and stood up. Then she hugged him. It wasn’t that they’d been great friends at court, or even known each other that well, but the little jester was a welcome sight now that she found herself alone and friendless. “I thought you were dead!”

“Um…surprise?” Chuck suggested and smiled hopefully.

“I mean I’m glad you aren’t,” she hastened to assure him. “I’m really, really glad. How did you escape?”

“I hid in the pigsty,” Chuck admitted. 

“Well….that…worked,” said Charlie.

“Yeah. What did you do?”

“I ran out the servant’s staircase. Crowley saw me watching though. He wants me dead.”

Chuck gulped. “So…what are you doing now?”

Charlie brightened: “I’m going South! The Knights Winchester are on their way to Azazel’s court. I’m going to meet them on the Great Road, and then we’ll find the Prince and restore him!”

Chuck stared at her: “Are you crazy?”

Charlie blinked.

“You are crazy,” Chuck sighed. The little man glanced left and right nervously, then lowered his voice. “Every man left at court is either one of Crowley’s or too afraid to challenge him.”

“That’s why I need the Winchesters,” Charlie patiently explained. “You know they’re the greatest Knights in the land, that’s why Crowley had to get – oh my God!” her hand flew to her mouth suddenly. “Chuck, what if it was a trap? What if Azazel is waiting with his guard to ambush them?”

“Trap…?”

“No, they’re too clever to fall for that,” Charlie shook her head. “They’re alive. I know it. Look, don’t you want the Eagle restored?”

“Of course,” said Chuck, and he whispered: “I just want to not die even more.” His eyes widened, terrified by his own daring.

Charlie narrowed her eyes: “For a jester, you don’t exactly lift the mood.”

“I know,” said Chuck gloomily. “I don’t know why the Good King ever took me on. But Father always said I was a joke, so I suppose it’s appropriate.”

“Your father….” Charlie frowned. “He’s rich, isn’t he? A baron or something?”

“Oh, yes. Self-made man in the liquor business. I was supposed to go into it too but he said I drank too much  
of the product.”

“Would he lend us horses? To go South?”

Chuck screwed his face up. “He might. He doesn’t like doing me any favours, but he’s loyal as any to the Eagle. If you think really believe there’s a chance – wait, what do you mean, _we_?”

“Well he’s not going to do it on my word, is he? He doesn’t even know me!”  
Pause. Chuck sighed and ran his hands over his long face, into his unruly curls. He was a small man, more or less of a height with Charlie, and with his habitual slump he was actually raising his face to her.

“Alright,” he said at last, “We’ll try it. Now the King’s dead, I’m sure I’ll end up getting killed one way or another. It might as well be for the sake of a good cause.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Charlie. “Let’s go see your father.”

Sir Eamon Shurley, distiller, importer and purveyor of fine spirits, lived in a large house on the outskirts of the city, set back from the road by large iron gates. The family crest, a hogshead, displayed proudly on the twin pillars. The grounds accommodated a modest stable and room for carts and waggons. Two guards barred the doors with pikes.

 

“Halt!” said the first guard, a white-haired man, then recognized Chuck: “Oh. Master Charles.” He made a 

perfunctory bow to them: “You and your company are welcome.”

“Hardly,” said Chuck. “How are you keeping, master Richard?”

“Well enough,” said the elderly man.

“Is my father home?”

“He is meeting with members of the merchants’ guild in the sun room,” said the guard. “Since the King passed,  
God rest his soul, it’s been non-stop comings and goings here.”

“Oh well, he’s busy, maybe another time….” Chuck started to back away.

“Not so fast,” Charlie grabbed him by the back of his jerkin. “I’m sure he can make time for a visit from his son.”

When they entered the sun room, however, she was forced to rather revise that opinion:

“God in Heaven, not you again,” Eamon Shirley complained. “What must I do to be rid of you once and for all?”

“Hello father,” said Chuck meekly. “I hope you are well.”

“Hardly,” snorted the old knight. Like his son, he was a small man, and age had left him spare and lean. She  
could see the relation to Chuck in the bones of his face, but his eyes were harder and the set of his mouth firmer. “The trade routes are threatened by bandits and half the King’s Watch is dead: those drunkards alone provided a nice little market. Still, men must drink,” he shrugged. There were three other men in the sun room of varying ages, and one woman: they wore the well-made cloaks and visible jewellery of prosperous merchants. A platter of small, brightly coloured decanters and sweet dates was set on a carved wood table, and two of the men had out ledgers and quill pens. None looked particularly pleased to be interrupted. “Who are you?” Sir  
Eamon asked Charlie directly.

“Charlie Bradbury at your service sir,” she bowed politely: “A humble page.”

“And what is a page doing in the company of my son? That is never advisable.”

Charlie looked at Chuck.

“We were wondering, sir,” Chuck said, “If it might be possible to borrow a pair of horses?”

Sir Eamon narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Charlie looked to the other merchants in the room. Then she looked at Chuck. He had said that Sir Eamon was loyal to the crown, but could she speak freely in front of the others?

“To….make our fortune?” she suggested.

Sir Eamon snorted with laughter. “In that case, you certainly need a new partner.”

“I….have other partners!” she lied. “My cousins, the Knights Winchester. I go South to bring them news of our business venture.”

“The Knights Winchester are alive?” Sir Eamon looked up abruptly.

“Oh yes,” said Charlie.

“Gentlemen, Lady, excuse me a moment,” he said to his business partners. He swept past Charlie and Chuck into the hallway and gestured for them to follow him.

“You are no cousin,” he said to Charlie . “You have nothing of the Winchester or the Campbell look. I had assumed that the Winchesters died fighting for the King-“

“No!” she cut him off in excitement. “Crowley knows they’re better than him. He sent the brothers South to  
Azazel’s court to get them out of the way. I took the message,” she admitted, then: “I didn’t know.”

“Then Azazel has had them killed,” said Sir Eamon.

“We hope otherwise,” said Chuck quietly.

“We have to try, at least,” said Charlie.

Sir Eamon folded his hands together and pressed his index fingers to his mouth. “If the Winchesters are alive, and the Prince too, there is more hope for the city than I believed. I would send a fast rider and good horse – but in truth, there is no-one here I trust absolutely, not even your brothers,” he addressed Chuck.

“But – me?” Chuck appeared slightly awed.

“You’re a fool,” said Sir Eamon tiredly, “And you drink too much. You have no head for business and I’m damned if I’ve ever seen a man of less use with a weapon. But,” here he sighed: “I am sure that there isn’t a treacherous bone in your body.”

“Father,” Chuck’s chin trembled as though he would cry with happiness. “I – I - thank you sir!” he seemed ready to embrace his father, then thought better of it, and bowed deeply instead.

“If you fail it will be through stupidity, and that is far less dangerous.”

“Yes,” Chuck nodded several times.

“And you don’t look like an idiot,” he glanced over Charlie. “He’s trustworthy?”

“Well this was all _my_ idea.” Charlie was put out. “Also, I’m a woman.”

“Don’t advertise that on the south road,” advised Eamon: “Dress as you are. I’ve a couple of hackneys that will suit. I daresay you’re more used to palfreys for riding, but two on palfreys without a sword is an invitation  
to brigands. Wear your daggers and hide your purses.”

Twenty minutes later, after a hurried repast of cheese, bread and dried plums, they saddled up a pair of brown sturdy horse with placid expressions. Sir Eamon had provided them with wineskins, filled saddlebags, and even a few more coins for the road. Charlie was starting to feel uncomfortably like a beggar, but she told herself that when the Prince was restored everyone would be better off for it. With hoods drawn up over their faces, they passed the inner gates, then the crossroads, and took to the south roads.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

2\. Chuck.

Chuck hadn’t been out of the city in a few years, but remembered the lay of the land well enough: in his younger days, he had been North and South on business for his fathers and brothers. The roads were more treacherous now, the people crueller. The cobbles of the Great Road were rough and worn, but their horses were sure-footed if not speedy. They saw few fellow travellers on the first day – those they met had a lean, hungry look, their eyes roaming briefly over Chuck and Charlie before dismissing them. Chuck was glad they had bought rough grey cloaks from father’s stable boy, for even grubby, their well-made court clothes would be considered finery to a brigand.

Charlie was looking right and left, uncomfortable:

“Chuck?” she asked. Where is the farmland? The homesteads? Everything is so….quiet.”

“It was a hard winter,” said Chuck sadly. His companion was certainly brave, but ‘sheltered’ was  
putting it mildly. “Many people died. Many more lost their homes, and the lands have gone barren.” All they’d felt of it in the castle was a lack of fruit, and tougher meat at table.

Charlie’s eyes widened. “ _Died?_ But…what about the grain stores?”

“Some couldn’t afford the price; some couldn’t make the journey into the city. By the year’s end the stores were depleted – gone to feed the troops in the Eastern Reach. And remember the tourney in Autumn for Lady Ruby’s visit? Or the feast for the Desert King? Those took far more from the coffers than could be afforded.”

“But – why – why didn’t the King…..?”

Chuck sighed and ran a hand down his face. Speaking like this felt dangerous, even out here. But the road before and behind them was bare, so he said quietly: “The King was…old. He had several advisors, including the Prince, but Lord Crowley had his ear. In truth, Lord Crowley has been running the kingdom for some time, and plotting this coup, I believe, for many more.”

Charlie looked stricken. “How could he do it? They were friends.”

“No,” Chuck corrected her: “Monarchs don’t have friends.”

“Sir Dean is Castiel’s friend, and he’s the Crown Prince.”

“Maybe now. But if Castiel succeeds he’ll have to put friends aside.”

Charlie looked like she wanted to object, but instead she asked: “What do the people think? they understand, right, that it’s Crowley’s fault? They want the Prince back?”

“They want to eat,” said Chuck, “They want bread and beer, and to know there’ll be bread and beer tomorrow. They want to keep their homes and trades. I believe that a year under Crowley’s rule, and they’ll take you or I for a King if we could promise them better.”

Charlie was silent. He watched the expressions flit across her face as she processed.

“What would you do?” she asked quietly. “If you were King?”

Chuck laughed. “Drink the contents of the wine cellars, then fall on my sword.”

“Castiel will be a great king,” said Charlie firmly. 

Chuck hoped so. In any case, he would hold the realm better than Crowley, and probably better than his father had. On the off-chance he was still alive, of course. As they rode, the snow melted, leaving the ground hard and gritty. The sky was dull, overcast iron, unchanging down to the horizon. They pushed on as far as they were able, and when night fell, got a room at a modest-looking inn that charged twice what it should, being the only one on the road for miles in either direction. But the food was unobjectionable, the fire warm, and Charlie was pleasant conversation. Chuck found he was less nervous around her than – well, anyone, really.

“Hey,” said Charlie suddenly, “Look at that.”

He turned his head to where she was staring, behind him:

“No don’t look!” she contradicted herself. “I meant metaphorically! But that woman is giving you the eye.”

Chuck of course looked again. The woman in question was brunette, dark curling hair and dark eyes: she would have been very pretty if not for the cruel smirk of her mouth, which Charlie didn’t seem to notice. Her companions were just as unsettling: three rough men, with biceps the size of Chuck’s thighs, their faces half concealed by scruffy beards but their knives visible at their belts. One bore a slash scar down the side of his cheek, leaving his left eye permanently closed. The woman saw Chuck look, and met his eyes over her goblet.

She licked her lips.

“You should go for it,” Charlie seemed to think she was helping.

“I…really think she has enough company,” Chuck replied, and tried to disappear into his cloak.

“Your loss,” said Charlie, and almost, for a second, Chuck thought she looked wistful. 

They were back on the road at first light. The sky was paler now, and the air less cold. The lands here hadn’t suffered so badly – they passed farms still in operation, and traded polite nods with the odd passing merchant. There was growth at the side of the road, too – bushes and trees. Chuck found his mind wandering. He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this death wish of a mission, but he was, as father said, rather an idiot, and probably always destined to get himself killed in some inglorious fashion. He-

“Good day mother,” said Charlie. He looked up, and jerked his horse to a stop just in time to avoid running over a hunched old woman. She wore a hood over her face and hair, and her robe looked religious, though Chuck couldn’t at first glance see any kind of emblem. “Are you lost?”

“Not lost, my dear,” croaked the old woman.

“May we help you?” Chuck asked. “It’s a dangerous road to be alone and on foot.”

“Oh, I’m not alone,” she said, stood up straight, and threw her hood back. By the time Chuck realized it was the woman from the inn, her companions had sprung from the bushes and surrounded them with their daggers. Charlie squeaked and fumbled for her small blade, but Chuck just sighed and put his hands up.

“Our purses are attached to our belts,” he admitted. “Don’t hurt us?”

The woman sauntered up to him and ran a hand deliberately up his leg. Chuck shuddered. “Now let’s see,” she unhooked his purse and emptied the few coins into her hand. “Oh, really. I know you can do better than that, blue eyes.”

“He can’t,” Charlie said quickly. “We’re poor, really. Just a couple of poor travellers. Not worth killing or maiming in any way to be honest.”

“Oh now sweetness I find that hard to believe,” the woman grinned lasciviously at Charlie and moved in that snakelike way over to her horse. She ran a hand up and down the bridle. “I saw your fancy clothes under those cloaks at the inn last night. And what’s this? A hogshead?” Oh, crap. The horses’ blankets. “House of Shurley, hmm?”

“They’ll have liquor,” said one of the ruffians.

“They’ll have _money_ ,” the woman corrected. “Now that I think about it, that _is_ the Shurley jawline.” She swung back to Chuck and gripped his chin in her hand, hard. Her nails dug into his cheeks as he tried to refrain from biting his tongue. She smiled like a wolf: “You’re Simon Shurley.”

“Nnnnf!!” Chuck protested frantically, trying to shake his head: “Hesh my bruvver!” Then: ‘OH, CRAP.’ He shouldn’t have said that. What was _wrong_ with him?

“Ohhh!” Her eyes widened. She released his chin and slapped his cheek. Chuck winced, feeling the half-moons of her fingernails like lines of fire. “Old Eamon has another son?”

“No,” said Chuck quickly. “I mean yes but my father hates me. He doesn’t give me money.”

“If he hated you, you’d be dead,” sneered one of the ruffians, blade hovering a little closer to Chuck’s side. Chuck breathed in. “Not out on the road in your pretty clothes with your _pretty_ little wife.”

“I’m not his wife,” Charlie objected.

“Is that so?” the woman raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you worry sweetheart - out here, no-one’s judging.  
Tie them up,” she instructed her brigands abruptly. “If old Eamon will keep this son alive he’ll pay ransom for him.”

“He really won’t,” Chuck assured her, as the brigands yanked his hands behind his back and tied him roughly. He felt his knife removed and was patted down for more weapons.

“Well I should just kill you now then,” the woman said.

“I mean he will,” Chuck corrected himself. “Just not much.”

“We’ll see what Azazel thinks about that,” the woman tossed over her shoulder as she turned away.  
Chuck and Charlie were pulled unceremoniously from their horses. Their eyes met and widened. The brigands took their cloaks, bags and the metal from their reins, then turned the horses loose. The world tilted – then the breath was knocked out of him, and Chuck realized he was sideways across a tall, sleek black horse. Another brigand bound his ankles. Charlie, opposite, was in the same position. Chuck met her eyes and wanted to say,

“Azazel! But we’re kidnapped! But Azazel!” or something similar, but a hood was yanked roughly over his head, leaving him in darkness.

*

Though he couldn’t see the scenery passing any longer, Chuck could feel that these horses moved much faster than their own. Unfortunately, in his current position, that meant a great deal of jarring and jostling and the occasional very definite bruise when the road was bad. By the time they yanked his hood off and untied his arms, his limbs were so numb that he fell from the horse. The brigands let him hit dirt.

“Hey!” he heard the woman exclaim above the ringing in his ears, “Watch the goods! They’re worthless if we break them, genius.” She approached and prodded him with one tough leather boot. Chuck considered it best to roll over.

“This is it for the night, sugarcakes. Have a drink.” She tossed him a wineskin, which he guzzled eagerly, ignoring the pain in his – everything – as he sat up. He realized there was grass under his breeches.

“I’m alright, thanks for asking,” Charlie called from across the camp. Camp? Yes, the brigands were hurriedly setting up a fire in a small clearing. They had left the road, and the horses were tethered to a tree, grazing. Chuck and Charlie were propped against a large oak with their ankles still tied together, and the brigands took turns in guarding them while the others ate. They were roasting pigeons: Chuck’s mouth watered and he heard Charlie’s stomach grumble.

“So,” he said gloomily. 

“So,” Charlie agreed.

“I did say we’d get killed.”

“We’re not killed!”

“We will be.”

Charlie huffed. “Doesn’t it get tiring being so negative all the time?”

“Doesn’t it get annoying being so blindly optimistic?”

They glared at each other for a moment.

“Look, we’re going to Azazel’s castle,” said Charlie in a low voice, “and much faster than if we were on our own. What more do you want?”

“Beer, food, sleep, my legs untied, and the guarantee of my safety.”

Charlie made a face and refused to talk to him for a while. They were fed, eventually – the greasy scraps from the bones of the birds and a hard heel of bread between them, which they devoured with gusto. The woman relieved the brigand on duty, and the camp settled down to sleep. Unbelievably, Charlie dozed off. Chuck stared, trying to wake her with the force of his disgust, but nothing happened, so he turned his attentions to their captor. She was watching him too, from the corner of one eye, and sharpening a wicked curved knife on a piece of flint. 

“Like what you see?” she asked silkily.

“No,” said Chuck. “I mean, yes, but. I mean-“

The woman laughed, throwing back her head so her dark hair rippled. She got up and crouched down in front of him, leaning forward so the tops of her breasts pressed against her leather bodice. They were uncomfortably close to Chuck’s face, and her knife was uncomfortably close to another area. 

“Really sugar, there’s no need to be afraid of me. I’m just trying to make my way in this big bad world, same as you are.”

Chuck made a sound that might have been taken as disbelief.

The woman paused, seemingly considering. “I’m Meg,” she said at last.

“Ch- Chuck,” he offered.

“ _Chuck_?”

“It’s short for Charles,” he said, hurt.

“Okay sweetcheeks,” she chuckled.

“So…you…serve Lord Azazel?” Hey, while they were talking, he wasn’t dying.

“Uh, no. _Serving_ isn’t exactly my thing, honey. Azazel’s more like…..an associate.” 

“What are you going to do with us?” he asked.

“Hand you over. If he thinks he can ransom you he’ll pay me. If he doesn’t…” she shrugged.

“Did I mention my father is really, really rich?” Cuch widened his eyes.

Meg laughed and threw her head back: “Tell it to Azazel, baby.”

 

*

With the brigands horses, the ride to Azazel’s fort went fast and hard. After the first two days the brigands didn’t bother hooding them – either Meg judged they were far enough from their own lands that making a break for it wouldn’t seem appealing, or the few words she’d exchanged with Chuck had softened her enough to grants them a small mercy. The lands grew populous, then sparse again, great dull plains and scrubby foliage. It was warm – warmer than the North in spring, and the people went without cloaks. There were trees and flowers Chuck only dimly remembered, and the air smelt of the sea. He had never been so far from home.

Azazel’s castle loomed suddenly, dramatically from a hilltop. The keep was built of dark stone, the moat almost black, and the flag of the Horned Goat leered ominously from the turrets. Chuck gulped, and realised that beside him, Meg was doing the same. ‘She’s nervous!’ With an irrational surge of hope, he filed the knowledge away.

Meg and company were admitted at the drawbridge by a pair of hulking spearmen. Meg’s brigands disappeared, and Chuck and Charlie were marched through the keep by Azazel’s soldiers, all in bronze-plate armour. Meg sauntered at their backs. The interior of the Castle was decorated with dark yellow drapery, the walls adorned with tapestries of gory hunting scenes. The Great Hall, at the end of a long corridor, was guarded by twin swordsmen stood either side of great dark wood doors. Above the doors hung a bronze goat’s head, face twisted and laughing. Its horn were long and savage, and its tongue lolled from its lips. 

The Hall was as large as the King’s, but emptier. A few retainers slouched here and there with their blades on prominent display, eyeing each other and the newcomers suspiciously. The dark-yellow colour scheme was continued, high drapes obscuring the windows and bronze braziers. Azazel’s seat was bronze. So were his robes, and the circlet he wore on his high forehand and – if Chuck wasn’t totally nuts now – his eyes themselves had a dark yellow glint to their irises.

“Daughter,” he greeted Meg, and Chuck’s eyes widened. Meg swallowed, looked down and then up with a nervousness Chuck recognised entirely.

“Father,” she said warily, “I’ve brought you bounty. This is Charles Shurley, the younger son of Eamon Shurley. A rich merchant,” she clarified.

“I see,” Azazel’s golden gaze raked Chuck, then Charlie: “And this is?”

“My sister,” blurted chuck. “The lady Charlie.”

“Charles….and Charlie. And you are siblings.”

“Uh, it’s a family name?”

“Ha!” Azazel threw his head back and barked laughter. “Well, we’ll soon see what your _family name_ is worth. Why were you trespassing in the Southlands?”

“We weren’t!” Charlie said indignantly. “We were travelling on the Great Road when these people assaulted us. They took our money and set our horses loose! When the true Prince returns you will answer for harassing his citizens, sir.”

“The true Prince?” Azazel drawled, leaning back in his chair. Suddenly Chuck saw how Meg resembled him. “And who might that be?”

“Prince Castiel, of course.”

“Castiel is dead.” Azazel said it so flatly, with such certainty, that Chuck’s stomach sunk like a  
lead weight.

“No,” Charlie’s lip quivered.

“And with him dead, and the Eagle’s beak at last out of my affairs, I shall pursue justice in my own  
way on my own lands. Lock up the trespassers,” he snapped.

“We didn’t trespass!” Charlie yelled. Meg stepped up and slapped her across the face: 

“Speak when you’re spoken to, prisoner.” 

Charlie’s mouth opened and closed a few times in apparent disbelief. Chuck hung his head and presented his bound hands to the nearest bronze-plated guard.


	3. Charlie

“Charles. And his sister Charlie,” she shook her head. “Really, Chuck? Really?”

“I panicked!”

“Why didn’t you make up a name?”

Chuck sighed. “I have a really bad imagination.”

They were locked in adjoining cells, with iron bars between them, bars in front of them facing a central corridor and stone at their backs. Each cell had a pallet, a chamber pot and a water jug. The only light came from a window at the far end of the corridor. It was cold.

“Will your father really ransom us?” Charlie asked in a small voice.

“Well,” said Chuck after a pause. “He liked you.”

“He _liked_ me?”

“Oh yeah. Trust me. By dad’s standards, that was like.”

“Huh.”

They fell silent for an indeterminate time.

“What do you suppose will happen now?” Charlie asked.

“They’ll send horses to my father’s homestead. If he’s feeling especially generous, he might help us. If he doen’t answer they’ll kill us.”

A sob rose in Charlie’s throat. She hated Meg more than she’d ever hated anyone. How – why – for a few pieces of gold – the respect of the awful Azazel – she would get them _murdered_? How could anyone be so wicked?

It was her fault. Clearly, she knew nothing about the world, and Chuck had tried to warn her. “Do you hate me? she asked quietly.

“No,” said Chuck: “I should have stopped you.”

Charlie frowned. That didn’t sound right at all. But she grew hungier and colder, exhausted but unable to sleep, and she wished – she wished she’d never –

“Why would he say Castiel was dead?” she asked abruptly. Chuck was licking the tin platter from the last bits of porridge they’d been given. He lowered it from his face:

“Maybe he is.”

“How would Azazel know?”

“Maybe he killed him.”

Just as Charlie was starting to think, for the first time in her life, that this was truly the end of the line, the clink of chains from the corridor made her look up abruptdily. A hunched figure was marched past in chains between two bronze-plated guards. Even bent as he was, with his face concealed, Charlie recognised the lanky frame and shaggy hair. The exclamation “Sam!” rose to her lips. She stifled it. She must have made some sound, however, because Sam’s head turned just enough for her to catch his eye. He looked different – darker and dirtier- but he was still in his armor. To her surprise, Charlie saw he was armed. He made no attempt to break free from his guards though. When their eyes met, Sam’s widened with recognition. Charlie quelled herself, but once the guard passed, she slapped the bars of her cell and hissed,

“Chuck!”

“What? What?” Chuck sprang awake.

“Sam Winchester is here.”

“What? Where?” Chuck looked all around as though he expected to be rescued at any moment.

“Well not _here_ here,” Charlie admitted. “I mean here at the castle. He’s a prisoner, like us.”

Chuck stared at her. “That’s the good news?”

“The good news is he’s not dead,” Charlie pointed out. “And if Sam’s here, so must Dean be.”

“It’s more likely,” Chuck said slowly. “I can’t see why they’d keep one alive and not the other.”

“So,” Charlie brightened: “now we just all need a way to get out and find Castiel.”

Chuck thought. Then he said: “You know, ridiculous as that sounds, the fact that we’ve made it this far is pretty ridiculous. So what the hell,” he shrugged. “What’s your plan?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet. But look, it’s the Winchesters. They’ll be working on one right now.”

A short while later, Sam was escorted back through the passage. Charlie stared at him, but this time he deliberately didn’t look at her. There were splashes of blood on his breastplate, but he moved unhampered. ‘He’s fighting? Why? For who?’ Charlie’s mind spun with questions.

That night – Charlie thought it was night from the light quality – the slave paused when she came to empty the chamberpots. The slave was young, pretty, kept her eyes on the floor and her hair over her face. From the dirt on her skin and the look in her eyes, it didn’t seem likely she bore any love to Azazel.

“Hi,” Charlie said, thinking that any friend couldn’t be a bad thing. The girl ignored her.

“I’m Charlie,” Charlie offered. The girl paused, didn’t turn around. But she blew out her breath and looked left and right. Chuck came up to the bars.

“Are you okay?” he tried. The girl said nothing. But the next night she was back, and this time she stopped in Chuck’s cell:

“Your friend says to say yes.” Her voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible. Charlie sprung up and pressed closer. It was Chuck who had been addressed, but she took charge:

“Yes? Yes to what? What friends? You’ve seen the Winchesters?”

“Shh,” said the girl frantically: “Keep your voice down. I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”

“You’ve seen the Winchesters?” Charlie asked again, more quietly.

“Yes,” whispered the girl. “Dean Winchester says: when they ask you, say yes.”

“Yes to what?” asked Chuck.

“That’s all I know,” the girl lied badly. She sucked her thin lips in.

“Please!” Charlie begged. “Yes to what? You have to help us,” but the girl shook her head, clutched the chamber pot tighter and scurried out of the cells.

They got the answer soon enough.

“You!” a guard pointed at Chuck with a thin blade. “Can you fight? Shoot? Joust?”

Chuck blinked, and Charlie coughed loudly.

“YES,” said Chuck.

“Can you wield a sword?”

“….yes,” said Chuck.

“Alright come with me. We’re down three competitors.” The guard let himself into Chuck’s cell and clicked a single manacle around his right wrist. The manacle was attached to a chain, which the guard kept hold of. Then he showed Chuck the door.

“I can fight too,” Charlie called. It was almost true. She’d had a few lessons with a short blade when she was younger, just enough to defend herself in a fair fight with a single assailant. She could also shoot well enough.

“You’re a woman,” the guard looked her over.

“So?”

“No place for women in the lists.”

“Lists?” squeaked Chuck.

“Aye, the lists! How else is Lord Azazel like to find his champion?”


	4. Chuck

“Probably I shouldn’t joust today,” Chuck said to the page who was lacing his breastplate. “ Not that I _can't_ , of course. I just mean, it’s been a while since I’ve jousted, and, well. it takes time to get back in the way of things. Oh, and you know, I think my toe is sore, my big toe…that’s the one I use for spurring? I probably sprained it. Maybe I should just watch the others today?”

“Get on with it,” said the guard from the doorway. “You can fight or you can get back in the cell, which is it?”

“Yes sir,” said Chuck. “I mean, fight sir.” The guard grunted. The page was silent: a grim-faced boy of fourteen or fifteen, he bore more than a passing resemblance to the horses behind them. Azazel kept a fine stable, at least twenty horses with black and bronze coats, fiery eyes and the sigil of the Eye on their accoutrements. One thing Chuck could admit for the man: he had a sense of style.

Chuck was wearing armour. It was – heavier than it looked, tin plate with no emblem and nothing distinctive about it. “Lance,” grunted the page, and shoved a thin blade at Chuck. Chuck dodged, then realized he was supposed to take it. He had jousted exactly once before, forced into it by his older brother, and he wondered if this was simply a plan to kill him by entertaining means.

He took the lance and mounted the charger brought out for him. It was a stallion: black, sleek and extremely powerful. Chuck gave the forward command and the horse snorted shook his mane derisively, prancing in place a little. Chuck’s visor clanged down across his face.

“’E don’t like your chances,” said the page, grinning to show a gap between his front teeth. "And 'e don't like to lose."

“Out you go!” the guards opened the stable doors and Chuck had no choice but to urge the stallion out into the tourney grounds. It was a bright cool day, and many of Azazel’s retinue had turned out to fill the stands. Azazel himself sat on a dais decorated by his flags. Meg was not him, Chuck noticed, and quickly scanned the lists. He caught sight of her in the ordinary stands, a horn of ale in one hand. She grinned nastily and waved at him. Chuck had a lance in one hand and a shield in the other, but for some strange reason, his initial impulse was to wave back.

At the other end of the jousting field was a man on horseback. At least his armour was plain too – less likely a knight then. 

“Andrew of Gallagher versus Charles Shurley!” called a herald, and a trumpet blew. “Charge the first!” Andrew of Gallagher surged forward. Chuck froze, squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his lance, but the stallion had decided they were playing. The great horse charged, and Chuck held on. Hooves thundered beneath him. the crowd’s roar blurred in his ears, and he felt sick – the other rider passed in a rush of air, and then they were circling, trotting, at the far end of the lists.

“No strike!” called the herald.

‘I’m still alive!’ The crowd booed. The herald’s trumpet sounded again:

“Charge the second!”

This time Chuck had a plan. Giving up any thought of knocking the other man off his horse, he simple lurched to the left to avoid his opponent’s lance. Andrew’s weapon glanced off the side of his breastplate as they passed. The crowd booed louder, and the great stallion seemed to agree – he snorted and shook Chuck angrily.

“Charge the third!”

On the last charge Chuck managed to avoid the lance entirely, though he almost fell off his horse.

“Craven!” called the crowd: “Cowardice!” 

Chuck raised a hand meekly in acknowledgment. That got him a few laughs, at least. The stallion had had enough – he bucked, neighing angrily, and Chuck hit dirt. The back of his head clanged against his helmet and his teeth jarred together, pain ricocheting through his skull. Dimly, he was aware of the crowd laughing harder. When the stars cleared from his vision, Andrew of Gallagher was standing over him. With his visor up, Chuck saw that the other man was young, with wide brown eyes and a friendly face.

“What are you _doing_?” asked Andrew.

 

“I’m not a knight,” Chuck groaned, struggling for breath: “I’m just trying not to get killed.”

“Well – what do you think Lord Azazel does to the losers?” Andrew offered a hand and helped Chuck up.

“Uh – sends them home with a consolation prize, maybe?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “This is a _death match_. An elimination process. I didn’t knock you off your horse, so you didn’t lose, exactly, but you won’t get another chance.”

“Oh,” said Chuck, then, “Wait!” as Andrew turned to go. “Have you seen a pair of knights from the Northlands? Brothers?”

“The Winchesters? Of course. Who hasn’t? I’ll introduce you at the tournament quarters.”

*

The quarters, where Chuck was escorted after the joust, were definitely a step up from the prison. They were barracks, bolted from outside and guarded by Azazel’s men, but inside there was food and water and pallet beds and even a hearth. The windows were barred, but at least light got in. Chuck was allowed to clean himself up, then Andrew led him into the main hall.

Pallets lined either side of the long room. Several were occupied: men lounged or played at cards or stared moodily out of the window. even unarmed, they looked like knights: tall and well-muscled. Some gave Chuck a derisive glance and others ignored him.

“I know,” said Andrew, when Chuck looked at him again: “I’m primarily an archer.”

“How long have you been here?” Chuck asked.

“Eight nights. I won’t last much longer.”

Chuck supposed he should say: “Of course you will!” but really, that was groundless, so he said, “You might if you fight me again.”

One of the real knights snorted.

“So – the Winchesters?” Chuck prompted.

“Back room,” said another man, gesturing with a thumb to a wooden door adjoining. “Shacked up together as usual.” There were general sniggers. “Think they’re better than us.”

“They _are_ better than us,” Andrew pointed, “Better warriors, I mean.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“O-kay,” Chuck edged towards the door. “I’m gonna go in here now.” There were no locks in the interior, so he scurried inside. It was smaller and dimmer in this room, dull without a window.

Sir Dean Winchester himself looked up from his wine and said to Chuck,

“Who the hell are you?”  



	5. Chuck

"Well, I'm Chuck Shurley," said Chuck to the knight. "You sent a message to say yes…that I could fight….and I'm here! "

"Riiight," Sir Dean narrowed his eyes.

"No he is!" said Samuel, his saviour: "It's true. This is the jester! I told you I recognised him! Think of him in the hat, with less beard," he said to his brother.

"Ohhhh yeah," Sir Dean brightened, and suddenly appeared a lot less threatening: "Weren't you drunk at the Winter Feast?"

"Probably," Chuck admitted.

"Yeah! You were trying to flirt with that barrel, then a candle holder fell on you."

"I remember the bruises," said Chuck.

"So what are you doing here?" Sam asked, frowning now.

"Well, I'm here on an urgent mission for the sake of the kingdom and salvation of the North and stuff. Also we got captured. Me and Charlie Bradbury. She said that you guys could restore Castiel. We think he's still alive. Charlie's pretty sure, but you know, she's kind of an optimist."

"Wait, wait," Sam sat down on the pallet and gestured for Chuck to have a seat. There was a wooden bench against one wall, so he took it. "Restore the prince? Why would-"

"Still alive?" Dean cut him off. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Okay," Chuck blew out his breath. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But stuff happened in the North. A coup, to be honest. Crowley's men hold the city and Crowley has declared himself regent. The King is dead."

The Winchesters stared at him. They didn't resemble each other, but they could sure pin you with the same look. Chuck gulped.

"But Cas," Dean said sharply: "He escaped."

"Um, yeah," Chuck said carefully, unnerved at the nickname. It seemed rather too familiar for a prince. "We think so."

"You think so."

Chuck wanted to remind Dean that they were on the same side here, that he, personally, was all for the rescue and restoration of the prince. Instead he asked Sir Samuel,

"So what were you doing down the dungeons? And why did you tell me to say 'yes'?"

"Uhh, to get you out of prison?" the knight raised his eyebrows. "And I was being taken to the field. An alternative route: Dean and I aren't very popular with the crowd."

"We win too easy," Dean grinned. "Doesn't give them enough entertainment."

"But –but – you've gotten me into a deathmatch! I'm gonna get slaughtered."

Dean rolled his eyes. "We won't let you get slaughtered. There's way more chance of escape up here than there is from down in the dungeons. We're working on a plan."

Chuck sighed with relief. Of course, the Winchesters were working on a plan. But, his thrice-damned conscience protested: "Charlie's still down there."

The Winchesters nodded sombrely. "That's harder," Sam admitted.

"You could say she's, like, your lady, and you fight better in her presence," Dean suggested.

"I already said she was my sister."

Sam and Dean looked at each other and said in unison, "Ewwww."

"I don't think Azazel believed us though."

"Alright we can spin this," Sam said. "She's your iforbidden/i love. The reason your dad doesn't like you. So you ran away, and were trying to keep it a secret, but now that you are separated you're pining away without her."

"Azazel doesn't care if he's pining away," Dean snorted. "Say he can't fight without her inspiration on the field."

"Why brother, how surprisingly romantic of you," Sam teased, and Dean made a rude gesture at him. Chuck stared. For such legendary figures, the Winchesters sure didn't act very – well, legendary. "Anyway that won't work," Sam dismissed. "They could just drag Charlie out and display her in chains whilst Chuck's on the field, then toss her back in the dungeons afterwards. It's not a reason to bring her ihere/i."

They all paused, thinking hard. And then, for once in his life, Chuck had an idea.

6\. Charlie.


	6. Charlie

"You," the guard pointed.

"Me?" Charlie squeaked.

"You're a healer?"  
She blinked. But, remembering the words of the slave girl, told him bravely, "YES."

"Alright, come with me." He strode up to her cell and unlocked it, grabbed her by the arm, and clamped a cuff around her wrist.

"Ow!" she protested as he marched her out.

"You know the Mad Snow Fever of the North? How to cure it?"

Charlie almost laughed, both at the ridiculousness of it and in relief: there was really only one person who would come up with that.

"Oh yes," she said blithely, "It's a special interest, in fact. I'll need to see the patient immediately, though. Time is of the essence."

The guard grunted and marched her out through the corridor and up a short flight of steps.

"And bring warm water, and make sure the room's warm!" That would be excellent at this point. "Cold is the worst thing for the Madness."

The guard eyed her: "Don't push your luck."

They crossed a flagstone courtyard flanked by stone towers. Azazel's flag blew proudly in the wind and Charlie repressed a scowl. A few passers-by cast her scornful looks, and she realized wondered what she must look like. Dirty, bruised and hungry, with her clothes all torn, but hope was springing up in her again. Strong. They crossed a second courtyard, heading for a low set of buildings near the stables. There were bars on the windows and guards stationed outside, though it didn't exactly have the look of a prison. Azazel's crest was displayed above the door. The guards exchanged short nods, then Charlie was marched inside.

It was barracks. The men inside, however, were not Azazel's soldiers. They were unarms and unhappy. The dark looks they shot Charlie's guard left no doubt that they wanted out. They shot Charlie looks of a different sort, and she supposed they hadn't seen a woman in a while.

Chuck was standing nervously by an inner door, rubbing his hands together. Charlie restrained herself from hugging him.

"OH CHARIE I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE HERE," said Chuck theatrically. "It seems that one of Azazel's champions has come down with the dreaded Mad Snow Fever. These Southern healers haven't even heard of it!"

"Well," said Charlie. "That's to be expected it. They wouldn't see it down here. Show me the patient!"

Chuck opened the door and stepped aside. Charlie peered in, and beheld Sir Dean Winchester sprawled dramatically on a pallet bed. His pale skin was flushed red, and catching Charlie's eye, he declared,

"Begone, mad dog! I declare you a donkey's mother! " in his brother's general direction. Sam Winchester was perched on the bed, trying to look solicitous, but an expression of irritation briefly crossed his face at the obvious excuse to insult him. The guards made to follow Charlie but she turned and glared at them:

"Do you want to contract the Northern Fever? It would kill you! See how it lays low this mighty warrior, and he is of the North!" The guards hesitated and looked at each other. Sir Dean gave messy cough in their direction.

"We'll be right outside," they promised and quickly retreated.

"Phew!" the moment the door was shut, Sir Dean sat up and reached under the bedclothes, producing a bundle of heated towels which he flung on the floor. "Guess all that practice getting out of lessons paid off."

"Think you could act it up anymore next time?" Samuel asked dryly. "Maybe throw in some moans for effect?"

"They bought it didn't they," Sir Dean returned. "Hi Charlie, good to see you."  
Charlie couldn't help herself. She flung herself on the knight and hugged him.

"Oh – hey," said Dean a little awkwardly, though he hugged her back. "Are you okay?"

"Could be worse," said Charlie philosophically. "Starving though."

"We have food here," Chuck said. "I'll get you some."

"Thanks. And clean water?"

"I'll help him." Sam and Chuck went to fetch the provisions.

"Charlie," asked Dean urgently, "Is Cas safe?"

"I – I think so," she said. "He knew what Crowley was planning. Or at least, suspected. I'm sorry, I should never have brought you the message."

"It isn't your fault."

She shrugged. Dean glanced away, and there, in that look, she knew with a heavy surety:

"You love him."

"He is my sovereign," said Dean automatically.

"No. You. Love. Him. You personally. You love Cas."

Dean stared at her.

"How long?" Charlie asked.

Now Dean shrugged. Then he laughed a little, resigned. "I suppose….since I met him, there was something. Since the day Sam and I swore our swords to the Eagle. And it just….got more, with time."

"Does he know?"

"No," Dean said quickly. "He can never know."

"But if you don't tell him, how can he-"

Dean cut her off, incredulous. "Charlie, it's wrong."

"Then I'm wrong too," she said simply. It was hardly more dangerous than the rest of her life now. Dean opened his mouth as though he would answer that,, but Chuck and Sam returned then. They brought warm water, washcloths, bread , cheese and apples, cold ham and a jug of ale.

"I love you both," Charlie said, and fell to eating.


	7. Charlie

Now that she knew for sure, Charlie felt a warm glow off affinity for Dean Winchester, and wanted to ask him a hundred questions. Was it only the Prince? Or had he always been afflicted by the wrong desire? Was he, in short, like her – an exciting prospect, though admittedly not as exciting as meeting another _woman_ who – well, never mind. There was no point in thinking about that. Did he think there was any chance that the Prince might return his affections? Because Charlie did. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on…but she saw these things. She observed.

Well, there was no chance of asking him anything until they were alone again. Even if Sam knew, Chuck certainly didn’t, and it wasn’t that Charlie thought Chuck would hate them or anything, but depending on Chuck to keep a secret was like depending on a paper boat to cross the Treacherous Shoals. And it didn’t look like they’d be getting any time alone until they escaped the barracks.

The Winchesters had a plan. It depended on getting a few other soldiers to side with them, and, though the others seemed to have no particular love for the brother knights, they were as keen to escape as anyone.

“You’ll be taking your chances,” Sam advised them that night. The Winchesters, Chuck, Chuck’s friend Andrew, a Knight from the Southern Isles named Jacob Talley and a pale fierce man whose name Charlie didn’t know where all gathered in the Winchesters’ quarters. “We can’t promise you’ll survive.”

“What else is new,” said Sir Jacob dryly. “Just tell us the plan.” As Sam explained, with the inner door open, more knights perked up and began to listen, intrigued by the possibility of escaping. So it was Chuck and Charlie found themselves hammering at the outer door, yelling,

“HELP! GUARDS!”

And the door swung inwards, and Charlie cried,

“It’s the Madness! The Madness is on them!”

“Stop!”

Half the knights had turned on the other half, punching, kicking and throttling.

“The contagion!” cried one guard, grabbing his fellow’s sleeve:

“If they kill each other before time, the Lord will have our heads anyway!”

The commotion drew guards from further down the corridor, and with swords out, they tried desperately to separate the combatants whilst touching them as little as possible. Then, quiet as a snake, Dean slipped a thin blade from his boot and into the side of the guard trying to restrain him. Of course, the Winchesters had found a way to conceal a couple of weapons. The guard fell, dying, and in the general chaos just one of his fellows noticed.

“Hey!” that man cried, but just then, Sir Jacob Talley cut off his voice with a length of cloth, twisted into a hard rope and wrapped around his neck. Charlie spent most of the melee that followed running for the door, but she gathered that quite a few of the knights died with the guards, including the pale man. Chuck was right behind her, and the Winchesters not far behind him – which was a good thing, as the next thing they knew, a fresh set of guards came racing up the corridor. The Winchesters took two each, taking swords and shields from them once they were dead – Chuck and Charlie pretty much ducked and hoped for the best, though Charlie did manage to knee one in the genital area, which she considered her heroic deed for the day. They fought their way to the courtyard: night had fallen, which aided concealment, but the noise had roused more of Azazel’s men. They needed to reach an escape tunnel at the back of the castle- the Winchesters had learned of it from the serving girl. It was old, older than Azazel’s reign, and could well be blocked up by now, but it still seemed a better chance than the main gates. The bell in the great keep was clanging now, sounding the alarm, but most of the guards that responded to it were racing for the barracks. The wall was in sight. But then someone spotted the escapees, and a cry went up, and Charlie screamed as an arrow ripped past her, leg, close enough that she literally felt the friction. The Winchesters held the shields up as best they could, and she felt more arrows bounce of them – then they were at the wall – but no! A group of armed men were blocking their way. And in their midst –

\- _her_. Bile rose in Charlie’s throat. Meg, smug and self-possessed. Charlie had never thought she could kill anyone, but now she thought if she had the chance, Meg might be an exception.

“Well well well,” Meg drawled, toying theatrically with an ornate dagger: “If it isn’t daddy’s little favourites.”

“One warning, bitch,” Dean held out the blade he had taken from the dead guard.

“Or what? You’ll vanquish six men with the power of your magic sword?” She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t think I don’t know what they say about you, baby.”

Dean turned an unnatural shade red. 

“Move,” said Sam quietly, at his brother’s side, “Or I’ll run you through.”

“Is that a promise, sugar, cos Dean’s not the only one I’ve heard-“ at that instant, Meg turned, and plunged her dagger into the man behind her. The rest of her guard gaped, stunned, and with that hesitation, she slit the throat of a second man.

“GO!” she yelled at them, and Sam and Dean recovered their wits, quickly dispatching the rest of the guards. Chuck and Charlie lunged for the wall. They scrabbled frantically in the undergrowth, and – yes, there! A small gate, wrought iron, low and just large enough for a man to duck through if he bent at the waist. At her touch it swung open, and Charlie was just about to let Chuck go first, when he took the chance anyway (huh. Well, she hadn’t exactly recruited him for his valour, so she couldn’t complain). The heard the guards scream as they died, and then their small party was inside the tunnel, and Sam was bolting the gate from the inside with two iron slabs: whoever had built the tunnel had put some thought in.

Total darkness.

“Damn it!” – Sam’s voice. Charlie realized his problem. The tunnel was scarcely high enough for her to stand in – the Winchesters must be extremely bent over.

“Meg – helped us,” said Chuck in shock. “Why did Meg help us?”

Silence – but the silence changed quality.

“Sam? Dean?” Charlie asked.

“Meg - Meg is complicated,” Sam said slowly.

“Meg is _crazy_ ,” said Dean.

“She has her reasons,” said Sam.

“Did she die?” asked Charlie. Some of those guards had been fighting back.

“Dunno,” said Dean shortly.

“Look, can we go?” said Sam. “I’m really hoping this tunnel gets bigger at some point.”

They went. The darkness was total, yet Charlie could still feel the walls pressing in around her.

Chuck began to hum.

“Chuck,” said Dean warningly.

“Sorry.” There was a moment of silence. Then Chuck began to hum again.

“CHUCK!”

“Sorry! I’m just – nervous. Gosh, is it hot in here. It’s probably all the air we’re breathing out. Hey, could we run out of air?”

“We’ll run out faster if you keep talking,” Sam pointed out. They trudged in silence for an indeterminate time. The tunnel did not get bigger, but nor was it particularly long – at  
least, it didn’t seem long. Possibly Charlie was just hoping it would be longer in order to get further away from the castle. Suddenly:

“Moonlight!” Charlie glimpsed it in the distance. She pointed, though probably no-one could see her arm. Sam breathed an audible sigh of relief, and Chuck began to run. The end of the tunnel was a rotted trap door, which Chuck burst through with ease. Starlight and moonlight flooded the tunnel, dazzling afer the dark, and Charlie rushed up after Chuck, popping up from the earth to emerge like a mole –

\- in the middle of an empty field.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, guys – I don’t think there will be an update next week. I have 47 essays to mark. The week after will return to your regularly scheduled instalments   
> :)


	8. Chuck

“Where are we?”

Chuck glared at Charlie: “How should I know?”

“Well you’ve been out more than I have,” she said defensively. “You’re always saying I’m naïve…if you’re so worldly, I thought maybe you’d know-“

“Well I don’t, okay!” he snapped

“ _Alright,_ there’s no need to be mean to me!”

“Children,” said Dean, “Can we play nice?”

“We’ve moved east of Azazel’s keep,” Sam said, studying the stars. “There are villages to the north – his bannermen. We’ll get shelter there for the night.”

“Orrr they could turn us over for a tidy sum,” said Chuck glumly.

“How would they know who we are?” said Charlie. Chuck rolled his eyes:

“They won’t know who _we_ are,” Chuck rolled his eyes, “But _somebody’s_ gonna recognise the Winchesters. They’re famous.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” said Sam.

“We are pretty famous, Sammy,” Dean said.

Sam scowled.

“Anyway they aren’t going to turn us in,” Dean said to Chuck. “Azazel’s bannermen hate him as much as anyone. Or more.”

“And then?” Charlie asked urgently. “How will we find the Prince?”

They all looked at each other. Then Dean said resignedly,

“Gabriel.”

“His cousin?” asked Charlie, at the same time Chuck said,

“Who’s Gabriel?”

“Right, his cousin,” Sam was nodding.

“It’s the safest place Cas knows,” Dean said. “Shame Gabriel’s a giant dick.”

“He mentioned him to me,” Charlie said excitedly. “When he told me to run away. He said I should go to his cousin’s holdings. It makes sense that he would head there himself.”

“Which wouldn’t even be necessary if Gabriel would stop screwing and drinking long enough to come North and help his family when they need it.”

“Dean,” said Sam.

 _“What?”_ The brothers glared at each other.

“Gabriel is our best bet,” Sam said after a moment. “We’ll send a carrier pigeon from the village if we can.”

“How can he reply?” asked Chuck: “We’ll be moving.”

“But at least if Cas is there, it’ll let him know we’re coming.”

They started walking.

“Why do you call him that?” Chuck asked Dean.

“Call who what?”

“The Prince. You call him – Cas….” Chuck quailed under Dean’s look, but as usual, failed to stop talking: “It seems over-familiar.”

“Cas is my friend,” Dean bit off. “He is a person, you know. Not just a – a symbol or whatever.”

Chuck repressed a sigh. Although he was rather afraid of the elder Winchester, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him at that. Here they were, risking life and limb to get Castiel on the throne, and Dean had this idea he could remain ‘friends’ with the man who would be King in the North. Chuck felt his age.

The made the town of Keystone just as the morning guards were opening the gates. 

“Business?”

“We are weary travellers seeking lodgings,” said Chuck. He’d been practicing that in his head for a while now. The guard rolled his eyes:

“What _kind_ of travellers?” Crap. They were all rather dirty from the trudge through the tunnel, but the Winchesters had their weapons, and he and Charlie had at least cleaned up and changed clothes from the prison cells.

“Personal,” said Charlie loftily. “If you must know, I am a merchant’s daughter on my way North to visit my married sister. This is my page,” she nodded at Chuck, “and these are the guard my father gave me,” at the Winchesters. “We had trouble on the road, and our horses have bolted.”

Charlie looked like she had more, but the guard had stopped listening. He waved them through and they entered Keystone. Chuck didn’t think he imagined the second glances the  
Winchesters were drawing.

They pawned one of the good blades Dean had taken off a guard. It had gems in the hilt, so they managed to get quite a tidy sum, and found decent lodgings for the night in a quiet inn kept by an elderly couple. For the coins they got two rooms.

“Dean, room with me,” said Charlie.

The Winchesters exchanged surprised looks.

“I promise you don’t need to fear for your virtue,” Charlie rolled her eyes.

“Dean has no virtue,” Sam pointed out.

“I’ve always felt virtue was overrated,” said Dean, but he looked uncomfortable.

“I want to talk to you about sss-something,” Charlie tugged Dean’s arm.

“Well don’t let me stop you,” Sam said. “Believe me I can use a break from his company.”

“I am a joy to be around,” said Dean with dignity, but he went with Charlie, and Chuck felt rather like he’d missed a whole conversation.

So, Chuck was rooming with Sam. That was okay, he rather like Sam. He was – polite. Ish. The beds were hard, but clean, and a short flight of steps led to a stone washroom heated by steaming coals. It felt like luxury.

“So, have you met Gabriel?” Chuck asked Sam.

“Once or twice. He’s….he’s a character.”

Pause.

“Like in a good way?”

“He…comes across as superficial,” Sam said carefully, “Kind of a playboy. Don’t let that fool you though: he’s perfectly dangerous to his enemies.”

Chuck gulped.

“But I’ve never known him to make an enemy without good cause.”

“Yeah,” said Chuck. “Man, I would really like to drink myself to sleep now.”

Sam looked at him for a moment, seeming to consider. Then he sighed, reached for his bag, and tossed Chuck a wineskin. “Pawned a dagger myself,” he explained.

Chuck supposed the correct thing to do would be to ask Sam if he were sure, or at least temper his intake, but in truth he just really wanted the booze. He opened the stopper and chugged from the skin.

The drink was much stronger than wine.

Chuck blacked out, and the next thing he knew, Sam was shaking him awake.

“We have to go,” said the younger Winchester grimly. “Azazel’s soldiers are downstairs, looking for Dean and me.” 

Crap. Oh, crap. Chuck’s head pounded, hard enough to blur vision, and Sam more or less shoved him out of bed. Charlie and Dean were already waiting in the corridor.

“But the innkeepers!” Charlie was protesting, “The old people! They’ll kill them!”

“Charlie,” Dean took her shoulders and said sharply, “How many people do you think will be killed if Crowley rules in the North?”

Charlie looked stricken, and her chin quivered, but she steeled herself. The Winchesters hurried them down the corridor and they stopped at a window looking down on the back yard. Dusk had fallen again, and the flagstones swam in Chuck’s hungover vision.

“I’ll go first,” Sam said, and clambered out – he was so tall that when he turned backwards and clung to the shelf with his hands, the drop to the ground seemed less dramatic.

“Chuck,” Sam reached up. Chuck positioned himself in the window and tried not to look down. or was it better to look? Perhaps if he –

Dean pushed him.

He yelped, air rushing past him, and more or less collided with Sam, who at least cushioned his fall.

“Thanks,” said Chuck.

“Get off me,” Sam gritted his teeth, and Chuck revised his opinion about him being the _polite_ brother. Charlie exited rather more gracefully, clinging to the cobbled wall in places, and Sam caught her when she dropped. Dean came down much the way Sam had – slightly more of a drop for him, but Sam assisted. 

They headed east and slightly north. The Winchesters claimed to know where they were going, and Chuck decided to trust them. On the third night, as they camped out in the woods, assassins set upon them. Chuck was going with ‘assassins’. Charlie called them ‘brigands’, and Sam and Dean ‘drunken morons’. Granted they weren’t the most _competent_ group of assassins it would be possible to encounter, and the Winchesters dispatched three with disparaging ease whilst Charlie clanged the fourth over the head with a cooking pan, but they had come on a mission to kill Chuck and Charlie and take the Winchesters to Azazel. In Chuck’s book that made them assassins.

“This is bad,” Dean said grimly as Sam slit the throat of the man Charlie had knocked out. Charlie looked away. She gulped visibly, and Chuck thought he ought to say something tough and manly like, ‘hey, it was them or us’, or perhaps more sensitively manly like Sam would think of. He drew blank. “Azazel must have put the word out that we’re wanted. We have to get to the White Spear tonight.”

The Spear was a river, bisecting the Kingdom North to South, and on the Eastern side was Gabriel’s fiefdom. Once they crossed the Spear, Azazel’s power and influence would diminish dramatically.

“Then I guess our friends here have done us a favour by accident,” said Sam: “listen.” They held still and quiet, then Chuck heard it too: muffled neighing and stamping, the shuffling of animals restrained by ropes and tether.

“Horses!” Charlie brightened, and they hurried through the dense trees towards the sound.

TBC


	9. Charlie

Now that Charlie knew for sure that Dean was in love with the Prince, her affection for him increased manifold.

“Have you ever loved a lady?” she demanded, as soon as they were alone at the inn.

“Yes,” said Dean: “frequently.”

“I mean _loved_ ,” Charlie rolled her eyes. “Not tumbled.”

“Charlie,” Dean sighed. He was inspecting his new weapons, probably for a reason not to look at her: “Sam and I….look, our lives are complicated. Before we came to the North, we’d never even stayed I one place for more than a moon’s cycle.”

“Because you’re adventurers,” Charlie said.

“That’s one way to put it,” Dean smiled unhappily. 

“You are,” Charlie insisted. “Didn’t you slay the Dragon of Vandor, who held his captives in thrall with the power of his mind?”

“Yeah yeah,” said Dean uncomfortably. “Look – since our father – since our father died, me and Sam kind of felt like we had to….finish what he started. So we killed the Dragon. It took years to track him down, and the whole time, he was sending his minions to hunt us as well. Sam was pretty much a kid, and I wasn’t much older when dad – you know. So – we’ve been kind of busy. Haven’t had much time to – get attached to people.”

“Until now.”

“Until now,” Dean echoed.

“It’s so unfair,” Charlie sighed. “You deserve a chance to be happy and marry your True Love. If only Cas were a girl, or you were a girl, you could get married at the end and the city would rejoice and all that.”

“Yeah, well, life’s not fair,” Dean said. “I’ll settle for rescuing Cas and restoring the North.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Charlie said stubbornly.

“So what about you?” Dean was deflecting, but at least he wasn’t shutting off conversation. “Got a lady to impress back home with your daring adventures?”

“No,” Charlie said. “I thought – I thought I was in love once.” It came out in a rush, so wonderfully strange to say it out loud like that, the perversion she’d thought herself entirely alone in. “She was the younger daughter of a visiting lord, and I was to attend her, but she – didn’t want to be attended. She wanted a friend. She was lonely. And beautiful. And she could ride horses and was the best archer in the fiefdom.”

“Joanna Harvelle,” said Dean.

Charlie stared. “How did you know?”

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

Charlie was horrified. “Do you think – did anyone suspect –“

“I doubt it,” said Dean. “It was more obvious to me I guess because – well, we’re the same like that. Plus I knew Jo pretty well.”

“Knew?”

Dean looked stricken. “Charlie – didn’t you – no-one told you?”

“Told me….what?”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said gently. “Charlie – she’s dead. All the Harvelles are. Their citadel was sacked by Azazel’s raiders two years ago.”

Pause.

“Oh.”

Charlie blinked, and her fingers clenched the bed covers. There were tears in her eyes. Noblemen fought and died every day, and she’d met Joanna just once, four years ago, and spent less than a moon’s turn in her company. She’d thought she’d been in love with her but really – it was an infatuation. It had to be. Could she mourn a girl she’d never known? Joanna had been dead for two years, and her life had in no way been affected. Well – she could be grieved because a good young person had died pointlessly, stupidly, in the never-ending cycle of violence nobles seemed intent upon perpetuating. But this wasn’t the time. Not yet. She swallowed hard.

“If you’re…like this….and I’m….like this,” she said instead: “There must be more of us.”

Dean glared. “I’m not like anything.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Go to sleep, Charlie.”

“Maybe we could have a secret wedding for you and the Prince. If there are other people like us, don’t you think there must be a priest somewhere who would understand?”

“I don’t want a wedding! I’m not a girl, Charlie!”

“Can I be the ringbearer? I think I should be the ringbearer. Sam can be the best man and Chuck can be….um…well, Chuck can be in it too, somehow.”

“Stop talking.”

Charlie stopped. She closed her eyes and imagined a secret wedding for Dean and Cas, maybe outdoors in spring. Later, she would grieve for Joanna and the Harvelles, but this was better to sleep on.

*

The next few days were rather horrible – what with the escape, and then having to kill the brigands, and the general slog of winter travel. Once they got the brigands horses under them, the ride to the White Spear went rapidly, and they crossed without incident. They hadn’t dared stop in another town, and so no pigeon had been sent. Two more days of gruelling travel, and then, the spires of Gabriel’s castle loomed bright in the distance.

“Wait – is that his flag?” said Chuck. Charlie squinted. From the pointed turrets flew a stripy rainbow standard.

“That’s Gabriel,” said Sam.

“I’m starting to like this guy,” said Charlie.

Before them lay an expanse of grey-green marsh.

“Oh great, a swamp,” said Chuck. “Just what I wanted to finish a terrible journey with.”

“Maybe there’s a ferry,” Charlie said.

“We’re out of money,” said Sam.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

The Winchesters held their hands up, away from the hilts of their weapons. Four knights on horseback approached.

“My name is Sir Samuel Winchester,” said Sam, “This is my brother, Dean,” said Sam. “These people are under our protection. We have business with your lord, Gabriel.”

The knights looked at them and then looked at each other. Charlie supposed the Winchesters didn’t look much like legends at the moment. All four of them were filthy, bedraggled, and the men had short rough beards. Chuck had a large piece of blackberry bush sticking out of his hair.

“We’re exiled,” said Charlie.

“What business?” asked the knight who seemed to be in charge.

“None of yours,” returned Dean.

The knight put a hand on his pommel and Sam said quickly,

“We only seek an audience. You are most welcome to escort us, and take our weapons.”

“Sam!” Dean said.

Sam shrugged. Charlie supposed he had a point. Force would get them no further now – what they needed was allies.

The guards confiscated all weapons, then after a brief search, marched the four to a cluster of boats at the edge of the swamp. They pushed off with long poles, like barges, and only two passengers could go apiece. As Gabriel’s castle came up close, Charlie could make out more of its idiosyncrasies. It seemed a medley of curling intricate structures, many kinds and colours of stone. The rainbow banner streamed from several windows. Charlie was reminded of confection trays the cooks brought out at winter feast.  
The impression was consolidated when they marched inside the keep. The interior was richly decorated in blue, pink, red, green, purple, silver and gold. The scent of sugar syrup hung heavily in the air. The High Hall continued sweetbox theme, and they seemed to have interrupted a party: golden braziers were lit up and down the walls, and men and women in colourful clothes danced, laughed and talked loudly. The dais was empty.

“Sam! Dean!”

A female voice. Charlie turned – and found herself almost face to face with the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her life. She stared. Her jaw dropped. She felt like there were little hearts in her eyes, and the God of Love had pierced her with his golden arrow. The woman had red hair, deeper and richer in colour than Charlie’s (which she had often thought of, peevishly, as ‘orange’). She wore it long and loose. Her skin was pale, and her eyes dark. She was dressed in a gown of forest-green velvet, a silver circlet on her brow.

“Anna! I mean, my Lady.”

Dean actually seemed to be caught off guard.

“These men sat they have business with my Lord Gabriel, Lady,” the knight said.

“These _men_ are Sam and Dean Winchester,” said the Lady archly, and Charlie plainly heard Dean mutter, ‘told you .“Allow them and their squires to bathe and dress –“ her eyes flicked briefly – so briefly – over Charlie – “Then bring them to the Lesser Council Chamber. I will apprehend my brother.” She added the last part grimly, then swept away with the combination of grace and force Charlie had always dreamed of.

 

TBC


	10. Chuck

“WINchesters.” 

Chuck heard Gabriel before he saw him. It was a loud voice: cultured, clever and insincere. Chuck sat up straight. The Lord of the castle lounged into the small council chamber behind the Lady Anna, whom Sam and Dean had explained was Gabriel’s sister. Gabriel was – short. Huh. Chuck blinked with a slight sensory displacement, as Gabriel seemed to command far more room than his body size would suggest. “Sam. Dean. And friends. How are you? Always a pleasure to see you boys.”

“Wish I could say the same, _Gabriel,_ ” Dean said. “Where the hell have you _been_? Is Cas here? Do you even know what’s happened in the North?”

Gabriel hooked a chair with one foot, dragged it over to him with an audible creak and flopped into it. Anna winced a little at the floor-scrape. She did not sit. “Jeez, Dean-o, have a little civility. One thing at a time.” There was a large box of sweets on the side-table. Gabriel scooped it up and stuffed a handful into his mouth, chewing loudly, before offering it perfunctorily to his guests. No-one took him up. Gabriel was dressed casually, in breeches and a shirt open at the collar, but real gold glinted at his throat and wrists, positioned to just be noticed. He was also, Chuck noted, guarded: two of his knights followed at a respectful distance, taking places up by the doors. “Where I’ve been.” Gabriel swallowed, and appeared to consider. “Here and there. Mostly here, to be honest. I know you’d never know it from this youthful face, but there comes a time when a man’s seen enough of the world. And you?”

“We’ve been prisoners of Azazel. Crowley betrayed us to him when he murdered your uncle, and ousted your cousin.” Sam might not have been as blunt as Dean, but Chuck noticed he carefully stressed Gabriel’s relations.

“Well, I’m sure Castiel will appreciate the sentiment,” said Gabriel. His tone was suddenly icy, and the glint in his eye reminded Chuck of how Sam had called him _perfectly dangerous _.“Though probably not quite as much as he appreciates the sanctuary of my castle.”__

__“He’s _here_?” Dean sprang up as though he would run off and find the prince at that moment, an expression of rapture came over Charlie’s face, and even Chuck felt a rush of relief, maybe something like triumph._ _

__“Not so fast,” said Gabriel, light and cold, and at his barest gesture, both guards stepped in front of the door to bar Dean’s exit. “While _you’ve_ all been gallivanting off round the country doing God knows what, _I’m_ the one whose been looking out for my cousin here. I like you, Dean Winchester. You’re funny. But I haven’t lived this long by trusting every tom and dick. How do I know your intentions towards my cousin?”_ _

__“I – you – “ Dean spluttered and turned red. “You think you have to protect Cas from us?”_ _

__“Troubled times, troubled times,” Gabriel shrugged. “As you say, the Good King is dead. It behoves us to be careful with our confidences.”_ _

__“But we’re unarmed.”_ _

__“You are also the Knights Winchester,” Gabriel said sharply. “I also haven’t survived this long by underestimating my enemies.”_ _

__“We’re not your enemies,” Sam said._ _

__“Good,” said Gabriel. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t _immediately_ consider you my friends. Look at this from my perspective. My uncle’s murdered. My cousin deposed. And _you guys_ , who were sworn to protect him at all costs I recall, are mysteriously deficient in your duty for the first time in – oh, ever. Then you show up and demand to see him? How do I know you’re not working for Crowley?”_ _

__“W – working for Crowley!” Charlie exclaimed. “We risked _life and limb_ and all that stuff to travel across the country, Alistair tried to have us _killed_ -“_ _

__“Please, my Lady,” said Anna. Her tone was calm but firm, and Charlie stopped talking immediately: “Excuse my brother’s manner. I have told him I believe him over-cautious,” she caught Gabriel’s eyes, “But I do understand his fear for our cousin. His position is precarious, as is ours. You are our welcome guests for as long as you will, but if Gabriel wishes to keep Castiel secluded, it will be done. He is the lord of this castle.”_ _

__“And I am the heir to the realm, cousin.”_ _

__That gravelly voice was unmistakeable, commanding. Chuck spun around. Prince Castiel – no, the King now – stood in the doorway. The guards looked completely torn, but they’d stood aside just enough to let him enter. Chuck wasn’t one for sentiment, but he couldn’t help the rush of emotion at seeing Castiel alive, and the bloom of the first true hope that maybe – just maybe – they could prevail, and the Eagle would be restored in the North._ _

__“Cas,” Dean said, and the Prince looked at him, and in the very next instant, both the Winchesters and Charlie knelt before their sovereign. ‘Poor Dean’, Chuck thought, recalling his own words to Charlie that kings couldn’t have friends. ‘Guess he’ll have some changes to get used to’. Then he realized he should probably be kneeling too, and hurried to make amends._ _

__“Rise, Sir Dean and Sir Samuel,” said Castiel gravely. “Gabriel, you misspoke. These knights are my most true and loyal friends, and these Charlie Bradbury and Charles Shurley are entirely to be trusted.”_ _

__Gabriel met the King’s eyes. They did not look alike, but in that implacable, knowing stare, Chuck saw the family resemblance._ _

__“Well all right then,” said Gabriel lightly. “Cas, you know where everything is. The rest of you, just ask the housekeeper to set you up with some chambers. I’ll…leave you all to get reacquainted.” For some reason, he looked at Dean, then looked back to Castiel._ _

__“Please, dine with us tonight,” said Anna, obviously trying to cover for her brother’s prickliness. “There is much to be done, and planned, but we may take one night to rest and celebrate your arrival.”_ _

__“We would be honoured,” said Sam, with a small courteous bow, and Gabriel and Anna left the chamber with the guards behind them._ _

__Castiel and the Winchesters embraced, all in appropriately manly style. Charlie flung herself on the new king – Chuck winced – but Castiel just patted her on the back awkwardly. Chuck and Castiel looked at each other, then settled for a sort of awkward handclasp. Castiel looked older than Chuck remembered – the same grave blue eyes, unreadable handsome face, perfect posture, yet something undefinable about him was – different. Weightier. He was dressed simply, though in fine materials, a light indoor cloak over a tunic and breeches, clasped with the insignia of the Eagle. He looked, Chuck realised with a start, like a king._ _

__“Man is it good to see you alive,” Dean said._ _

__“The feeling is mutual,” said Castiel, taking a seat. “Alistair rarely loses a prisoner save to his own executioners.”_ _

__“We – kind of had help,” said Sam._ _

__“Yeah what was that?!” exclaimed Charlie. “First Meg captures us, then she lets us go? Why?”_ _

__“Ah….” Castiel nodded. “Meg is…a strange case. Though her father controls her, she has a certain –affection for me. She would know of events in the North, and when she realised you were aiding the Winchesters, she probably helped you for my sake.”_ _

__Charlie gaped: “MEG? AFFECTION?”_ _

__The Winchesters didn’t seem so surprised: “Like I said, Meg is complicated,” Sam shrugged. “Cas, is there news from the North?”_ _

__“Gabriel sent scouts out these four days past. We expect them to return at any moment. There is little we can do until then. You must be weary.”_ _

__“I’m not,” said Dean quickly, still staring at Castiel._ _

__“Well I am,” said Charlie loudly, standing up._ _

__“Me too,” said Sam. “I think I’ll go find the housekeeper and ask about those chambers.”_ _

__“Ask any guard,” said Castiel. He was staring right back at Dean. Something was niggling at the back of Chuck’s mind. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Something….he looked from Cas to Dean and back again._ _

__“Come on Chuck, let’s go get some sleep.” Charlie grabbed his arm and pretty much levered him out of his seat._ _

__“I don’t know if I can sleep at this hour,” Chuck protested._ _

__“Gabriel keeps an extremely well-stocked wine and liquor store,” Sam offered._ _

__“I can sleep,” Chuck affirmed, and they left Cas and Dean alone._ _

__TBC_ _


	11. Charlie

Charlie flung herself on her new bed and squeaked into her pillow, flailing a bit. Gabriel had afforded them each their own rooms, so no-one was around to witness her display of emotion. She’d been lying about sleeping. She was far too hyped up now. Cas and Dean were in love and it was beautiful. And they’d made it so far! She marvelled to think of herself just a few months ago: a page girl who’d never left the North.

On the subject of beautiful, Charlie might be in love. ‘Don’t be silly’, she told herself sternly. ‘You don’t even know her. She’s never even talked to you’. But. If things could change so dramatically that she could become an _adventurer_ ….she felt a tinge of guilt for the Lady Joanna. Well, not exactly _for_ her – Joanna hadn’t even known about Charlie’s ‘problem’ - but because she could fall in love so easily again, having only just learned that Joanna was dead. But. She hadn’t even thought about Joanna in a long time, and Joanna had been dead already for much of that.  
A troubled mood came over Charlie. She tried to put it out of her head – Joanna had been kind, and bold, and generous, and she probably wouldn’t want some page girl being sad and moping after her (if she even remembered who Charlie was). And she was to dine with Anna tonight! Okay, so Chuck would be there, and the Winchesters, and Cas and Gabriel, and possibly a bunch of other people…but that wasn’t the point. Charlie was dining with Lady Anna.

A gown had been laid out for her by the maid: dark purple, simply cut, with a white satin belt at the waist. She shimmied into it awkwardly, pulled her hair out of the collar and ran her fingers through it, then tentatively went to the mirror.

Ugh. Charlie didn’t think she was hideous or anything, she was just so – ordinary. So _forgettable_ , with her long face and cropped hair and boyish figure. The dress was a shade too large on her, bunched at the waist and trailing on the floor, and made her feel a little like a child at pantomime. In the past ordinariness had suited her very well: Charlie didn’t make a habit of gazing at herself like the court ladies, and would rather work on her archery or tend the horses than pretty herself up to sit around like a doll. Now she looked like what she was: a plain middle-ranking servant in borrowed clothes, whilst Anna looked like a queen.

She busied herself with exploring her small chambers, then sat down to plan the details of Cas and Dean’s wedding feast. She tried not think on the battles they’d face in order to get to that point – there was no point in borrowing trouble. At last, Chuck knocked on her door to tell her that dinner was ready, and when she opened it, his eyes widened in surprise.

“Wow! Charlie. You look…..you look…”

“I know, I know,” she shoved lightly. “I look ridiculous. Don’t make fun.”

“No I was going to say….” Chuck blinked. “You look beautiful.”

Charlie stared at him, narrow-eyed, trying to work out if he was mocking her or not. Chuck blinked again.

“I don’t,” she said finally.

“You do,” he assured her.

“Oh. Well, thanks. You look….very handsome.” Chuck had shaved and washed, and was dressed in a clean shirt and breeches. He looked like Chuck, but cleaner.

“Oh. Thanks.”

They followed a page to the dining hall.

Any notion Charlie had of an intimate, get-to-know-you dinner was shattered as she realised she’d be seated at a dais at the head of the high hall. Gabriel was in his lord’s seat, Anna at his right hand, and on his left was a small black-and-white dog. The dog sat in a chair like a human, and wore a gold bow on his collar. He was eating from his own platter.

On Anna’s other side sat the Winchesters, clean-shaved and dressed more ornately than Charlie had ever seen them. Dean was glowering obviously; Sam looked awkward and resigned. Castiel sat by the dog, which periodically attempted to tear his cloak off. The rest of the dais was taken up with lords and ladies, and the entire hall was filled with diners in fine clothes, drinking and laughing loudly. Exotic birds perched on the backs of chairs, and every so often, one would squawk,

“MEAT!”

“DRINK!”

or let loose with a torrent of obscenities, which amused the diners best. A juggler and a fool paraded up and down the aisles, and – Charlie looked again, yes – some sort of monkey was climbing was climbing the drapery.

“We’re never gonna win the war,” Chuck said.

“You! Cas’s friends, get over here!” Lord Gabriel gestured them up to the dais, and servants produced more chairs and plates out of nowhere, squashing them in between the rest of the company. Someone poured Charlie a goblet of wine. Chuck drank it.

“I trust the accommodation meets your approval, my lady,” Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows at Charlie.

“Oh! Um, yes it’s wonderful, my lord. Perfect.”

“Please. Call me Gabe.”

”Gabriel,” Anna said in a warning voice.

“I’m being nice! You said be nice!”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Bradbury,” she said to Charlie. “You must forgive me, lady. I do not believe I know that house.”

“Oh. Well. It’s not really a house,” Charlie shifted. “I mean my parents didn’t have lands or anything.”

Charlie's parents were my loyal friends and retainers," said Castiel. "Whatsoever protection the Eagle still commands, it is hers."

A slightly awkward pause.

"Your - um - home is lovely," Charlie said loudly to Anna over the noise.

"Not precisely to my taste," Anna admitted. "But Gabriel will have his indulgences."

One of the birds shouted,

"SWEETS!"

"Brave companions," exclaimed a minstrel, bowing deeply before the dais: "Your noble journey has been fraught with peril. Pray, let Dorian son of Dain be the first to make a lay of your exploits."

"He wants money for it," Gabriel advised.  
"Um - that - I'm not sure our journey is exactly lay-worthy," said Charlie.

"Do not be so modest, Lady." Anna fixed her with her beautiful dark eyes: "You have succeeded where many would fail. I hear it was by your faith and bravery that this task was undertaken. Were you a man, you would be knighted when the Eagle is restored."

"I'm a man," Chuck pointed out. Everyone ignored him.

Charlie blushed furiously, heart pounding. She mumbled her thanks to Anna and wished that she were standing so that she might make an appropriate bow. 'If I were a knight, and jousted in tourneys, I should give you my favour,' she thought. 'And if I won, I would crown you with flowers'.

"I shall make a lay of the excellent Lady Charlie, as lovely as she is bold," offered the minstrel.

"I look forward to hearing it," Anna smiled.

 

TBC

A/N: I doubt there will be an update next week, due to various RL circumstances, but fear not - this story won't be left unfinished. I know how it ends. You probably do too - it's clearly not the most SRS BUSINESS of fics XD. Tywin Lannister turns up and kills everyone. JOKE! But seriously, I am also working on a Thrones oneshot which is my more usual depressing style, so that should be up shortly.


	12. Chuck

“This is it?” Sam said doubtfully, looking out at the assemblage of Gabriel’s forces.

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” Gabriel shrugged. “Besides, ever heard of quality over quantity?”

“We’ll see about your quality,” Dean grunted, and yelled, “Alright, duel formations. Let’s see some hand to hand!”   
He jumped down off the dais and started to walk amongst the ranks, yelling corrections and encouragement and insults he went. Word had come from the North the previous evening – Crowley was, as they all expected, quite thoroughly decimating the kingdom, and the people were close to revolt. The scouts believed that many of the common folk would side with Cas at once if he returned – but Crowley had many nobles and knights in his power, through a combination of bribery and fear. Some might desert at the chance, but certainly not all of them.

“Why aren’t you training, Chuck?” Sam asked.

“Me?” Chuck snorted. “I’d trip over my own feet, die, and get someone else killed in the process. I’m no soldier.”

“Neither is Castiel, and look at him.” 

Cas was down in the ranks with the soldiers, sword in hand – not the ceremonial blade Chuck had seen him with at court, but a regular iron blade that looked like it had seen battle. He was dressed in armour emblazoned with the standard of the Eagle. Dean stopped by him and repositioned his stance.

“Well, he’s their King,” Chuck rolled his eyes. “Leading the people and all. Plus, they’re all gonna protect him in battle, aren’t they?”

“I suppose my brother would throw himself in front of a sword before he let Cas take a scratch,” Sam looked amused. 

“Well,” Chuck frowned. 

“All I’m saying is it will be safer for you if you know how to handle a sword and shield. At least the basics.”

“Alright,” Chuck sighed resignedly and held out his arms, as though Sam would immediately provide said accoutrements. “I mean it would be safer still if I could hide out in a tavern or something, but I suppose I won’t have the chance for that.”

Sam spoke with Gabriel’s armourer, and all too soon, Chuck found himself fitted with a hauberk, a helmet and a mailshirt. They tried a breastplate, but it was heavy enough that he pretty much couldn’t move. He got a plain sword in his right hand and a supple shield in his left. On his way back to the field, Chuck caught a brief glimpse of himself in the looking glass.

He did a double-take.

He looked – well – not a knight. Not even the squire of a noble house. But something. Someone. Not himself. 

Someone capable of not only surviving, but accomplishing something.

“I’ll work with you,” Sam offered. “Dean seems to have the troops well in hand.” 

“Go easy on me,” said Chuck. 

“I will.”

It turned out they had different ideas of ‘easy’. By the end of the day, Chuck felt like he’d been beaten all over with a meat tenderizer. He could barely stand. Still, all his limbs were still attached, and he felt just a little more confident that if he were lucky, very very lucky, he might be able to deflect an enemy’s sword. 

“You’re not bad,” said Sam.

“Right,” Chuck snorted.

“I’m serious,” Sam insisted. “I mean – you’re not good - but considering you haven’t had the training – you’re – not as bad as you think you are. I’ve seen worse. A lot worse.”

“Is that your pep talk?”

“Well, it’s honesty.”

“I’ll take it.”

Moreover, that day, a few more of Gabriel’s bannermen turned up and offered their levies, each a few hundred men. Charlie believed that the battle was all but won:

“Let’s go!” she urged the knights. “What are we waiting for?!”

“My lady, we must have a strategy to take the city,” Anna said, and for some reason, Charlie turned bright red.

“Are you alright?” Chuck asked her.

“Of course,” she glared at him. “I’m fine. Why would you even ask that?”

“You’re all red. Literally bright red.”

“You’re all…stupid,” she trailed off lamely. Chuck looked at her in confusion.

Gabriel called a meeting of his newly-appointed 'war council', which basically meant Dean, Sam and Cas, Gabriel's master-at-arms, a couple of senior knights in his service, his terrier dog, the scouts who'd been North, one of the parrots and Anna, who kept everyone in order except the parrot. Charlie and Chuck came along because nobody told them not to.

"The southern gate is the least fortified," one of the scouts said, pointing at a map laid out on the table. 

“But it’s heavily guarded,” Sam said, “And sees most traffic.”

“Guards can be killed,” Dean shrugged.

“And kill good men in return,” the master-at-arms and Dean glared at each other – Chuck thought the grizzled old swordsman didn’t appreciate the imposition of the Winchesters on his turf.

“The north wall of the city can be scaled with grappling hooks,” said Sam. 

“HOOKS!” the parrot agreed.

“It’s been done before, when the Good King’s grandfather was on the throne,” Sam went on. The host made it right to the throne room before their leader, a rogue hedge knight named Garwick the Gold, was killed and their strength wavered.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” said Dean. “But the question is how would we get to the northern wall without being seen? We’d have to skirt the city from the east, and all the land is plain and open that way.”

“It’s true,” one of the scouts chimed in. “Even a small group of riders would be seen against the snow.”

“We must go by stealth,” declared one of the knights: Chuck recognised him as the man who’d presented them to Gabriel, the captain of the guards at the swamp.

“Oh!” Charlie’s eyes grew round. “Oh! I know what to do!”

They all looked at her doubtfully.

“Charlie,” Cas said gently, “Your service has been brave and wise and will be nobly rewarded. But you are no warrior. Leave this to-“

“But I read a book like this once!” she said, then looked mortified at having interrupted her sovereign.

“Well – continue,” Cas said, though the master-at-arms rolled his eyes.

“Well – um – Cas, we have to sneak you into the city. Like in disguise. Then you find all the people faithful to you – and like, rally them in secret. Meanwhile, the army sneaks up to the city, like at night, and you get one of your people to open the gates. We can take the city back from inside!”

Everyone at the table looked at each other.

“If someone were to open the Eastern gates, we could approach under over of the Glistening Woods,” Sam said slowly, “And take the straight road to the Castle.”

“I -,” Cas looked slightly alarmed. “I am not certain that I have the experience – I have never-”

The parrot chortled obnoxiously from the back of Cas’s chair, and turned itself upside-down, spreading its tail feathers.

“Oh, I’ll help you rally people,” Charlie dismissed. “No-one in the city knows my face. Chuck can go with the army – I mean, he’s been training and everything.”

Chuck tried to kick her under the table, but instead his foot just brushed Gabriel’s leg, who grinned at him and said,

“Good sir, I am flattered by your attentions, but alas I do not, as the phrase is, swing that way.”

“Are there maps of the Woods?” Sam asked intently. One of the knights went to fetch them library, and they started   
to plot the route that would return the true prince to the North.


	13. Charlie

To be honest, Charlie couldn’t quite imagine how an army would approach a city secretly. Though the Winchesters were concerned that Gabriel’s host wasn’t big enough, it looked enormous to her – enormous and, well, obvious.

“We’ll be under the trees until the last possible minute,” Dean assured her. “The forest presses close to the city on that side. The Good King had no enemies in the East to watch out for.”

There was no need for secrecy yet, however, so they ordered themselves in phalanxes, banners raised and armour shining in the dawn light. Charlie was wondering where she should go, when a page approached her and bowed. 

“Hi,” she said, still deeply unused to anybody bowing for her.

“Lady Charlie, the Lady Anna requests you join her in the wheelhouse for the first part of your journey.”

“Oh! Oh my gosh. Wow. Um, yes please. I mean yes I’d be honoured.”

“If you would follow me.” The page set off through the crowd. Charlie glanced back at Dean, who grinned at her knowingly. She found herself grinning in return, despite the butterflies in her stomach. What the heck – she was an adventurer now, and Anna had asked for her specifically. She hastily ran her hands through her hair and followed the page.

Anna was waiting in an ornate wheelhouse, emblazoned with Gabriel’s rainbow sigil. Bright pink drapes hung in the windows, and the horses were white with rainbow harnesses. The interior drapery was purple.

“My Lady,” Charlie bowed deeply. “’I was unaware we’d have the honour of your company.” ‘Nice’, she congratulated herself, but as soon as she looked up and into Anna’s lovely face, she felt gauche and silly again.

“Alas, I ride only as far as the Woods,” Anna smiled. “I’m afraid I would be worse than useless in battle, and my face is known to many in the City. But why not make your journey comfortable while you may?”

‘Comfortable’ wasn’t the word Charlie would have used for riding with the object of her devotion, but she was hardly about to turn it down. She bowed deeply and took Anna’s hand to step up into the wheelhouse.

Up close, Anna was slightly less perfect. Her chin had the faintest scars left by teenage spots, and her nose was a fraction longer than the ladies bards sang about. To Charlie that just made her lovelier.

“So,” Anna poured her a cup of wine with her own hands, “Tell me about yourself.”

Charlie tried to suppress her blush with the power of her mind. “There is little to tell, my lady.”

“Hardly.” Anna was looking at her intently. “A girl dressed as a boy, who can ride and shoot, and comes on an adventure with legendary knights in tow? You are the most interesting thing that’s happened to Gabriel’s court in years.”

Charlie giggled. Then mentally slapped herself. “Well. My Lady. I – I suppose I’ve just never been very ladylike – not like you, I mean. I’m terrible at sewing and cooking and all that. And I don’t like my hair long – it gets in my face. I’ve always just – felt more at home in breeches and jerkins. So I guess because I’m not anybody important, nobody bothered to make me act like a lady and stuff.”

“How did you meet the Winchesters?”

“They arrived at court when I was young,” Charlie recalled. “Everyone was surprised when they swore fealty to the Prince. Because of them being wandering knights and all. But I suppose we do strange things for love. OH CRAP.” She clapped a hand across her mouth. “I mean – I beg your pardon my lady, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to curse, but really I shouldn’t have said that, I-“

“Charlie, Charlie,” Anna was laughing. “It’s alright. I know.”

“You – know?”

“About Dean and Cas,” Anna’s eyes were sparkling. “It may not be conventional, but nor is it unheard of, and in truth I have never in my life seen my cousin so happy. As far as…Castiel is happy, I mean.”

“Aaaaah!” said Charlie. “Oh my Gods! Isn’t it the best thing in the world though?”

Anna just smiled. “I think it’s very sweet.”

“And you’re not…um…I mean, it doesn’t….disturb you. To think of – such relations.”

“No. Well, not in theory. Castiel is like a little brother to me, so the thought of him being intimate with  
anyone is rather uncomfortable.”

“But you don’t mind…that they’re both…”

“Men?” said Anna frankly. “No. I have considered this matter. I know what society says, and what the priests say, but the priests also say it is wrong to kill and steal, yet they happily take sides in this war or that war. Lords take the work of the peasants hands daily, and feast while the people go hungry. And those things are hurtful and harmful. If men like my cousin lie with other men, or women with other women, what harm does it do to anyone?”

“Women?” Charlie’s eyes widened. “There are…other women?” ‘Like me’.

“It’s not so uncommon. Consider how much time great ladies spend in the company of their maids, lonely and segregated from society. People being as people are….” she shrugged. “Well. I’m afraid we’re not all as snow-white as you, my chaste adventurer.” Anna sipped her wine, smiling, and Charlie felt herself smile in return, though she was being teased.

“I’m not so snow-white,” she said boldly.

“Oh really?” Anna raised an eyebrow, using one hand to steady herself as the wheelhouse went over a bad patch of road.

“Yes.”

“And what such terrible sins have you committed?”

“I’ve…well, I’ve stolen.”

“What?”

“Cakes,” Charlie admitted. “From the kitchens. They were supposed to be for some Southern ambassador. But I was only seven, and I’d never seen such marvellous little cakes. They had a cook in to make them specially. When no-one was looking I slipped two into my pocket – one for me and one for my friend the stableboy.”

“Honourable even in theft,” Anna teased her.

“It served me right because they were horrible,” Charlie said. “They tasted like flowers.”

“Rosewater, I expect. It’s an acquired taste.”

“Well I don’t know why anyone would want to acquire it.”

There was a pause, and Charlie drank a bit to cover any awkwardness. Then, for some reason, and absolutely against her better judgement, she said,

“I’ve had thoughts though.”

“Thoughts?”

“Less than…pure thoughts.”

“If we could be held guilty for our thoughts, there would not be an innocent man nor woman in the Kingdom.”

Anna was looking at her intently. Charlie couldn’t look away from her eyes.

“What you said about great ladies and their maids,” Charlie whispered.

Anna smiled. “I thought so,” she said. Then she leaned in, and Charlie leaned in, and their eyes were locked, and it was just like a fairytale-

\- the wheelhouse hit a rut in the road, jumped, and jerked them both sideways, sloshing the wine out of Charlie’s cup and all over Anna’s gown.

“Oh my gods!” Charlie was mortified. “I’m so sorry! Here, let me –“ What, touch Anna’s breasts? She blushed furiously. She didn’t even have a cloth or rag to offer.

“Charlie, Charlie,” Anna was shaking her head. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. It’s fine, honestly.”

“How is it fine,” Charlie said miserably. “I’ve ruined your dress.”

“It was hardly your fault,” said Anna. “Besides,” she winked. “I never liked this dress. Castiel had it made for me on my nameday, and I only wear it to please him.”

“It is….a bit much,” Charlie offered. The dress was a little – well, fussy, to Charlie’s taste. Lots of lace and little ribbons all over the place.

“Far too much,” Anna agreed. 

Charlie smiled a tiny bit.

“So truly, you’ve done me a service.” Charlie smiled properly, and Anna returned it. “Now then,” Anna went on. “Where were we? Ah yes, you were telling me of all the terrible nefarious things you’d done in your lifetime.” 

“That’s it,” Charlie admitted. “I’ve told them all.”

“Well then, it appears my first thoughts were true.” Anna turned serious again. “You are both brave and honourable. Here,” she said suddenly, and unpinned a small flower brooch from her bodice. “Wear this for me. When you go to battle the enemy. You have no need of further courage, but may it bring you luck.”

“My lady, I –“ Charlie stammered, bowing her head. “I would be honoured.”

“Don’t be honoured,” Anna told her. “Just come back safe.”


	14. Chuck

“Travelling,” Chuck moaned. “I hate travelling. I figured at least becoming a soldier I’d get to do something _different_ but noooo. It turns out war is more travelling. In the rain.”

“Look on the bright side,” Sam said: “It could be snowing.”

They crossed back over the White Spear on the evening of the first day, and set up camp at the border of the northlands. It was wet. Chuck tried to take heart from the way their tents looked, spread out like a…well, like a proper army. He was too wired to sleep, so he drank, then wandered around for a while and commiserated with the horses. He found himself outside Castiel’s tent, with its banners and sigils and a couple of guards standing outside the entrance.

“Hi,” he said to the nearest guard. The guard’s eyes flicked down:

“Good evening,” he said.

Chuck frowned: “You hear that?”

“What?” said the guard.  
 _”That,”_ Chuck insisted, leaning in. He could have sworn – yep, there it was again. Sure enough, there were sounds from inside the tent. Rustling and little mutters and panting and – wait, was that a gasp?

“Hey is everything okay in there?” Chuck tried to peer around the guard and through the entrance of the tent, but the soldier was implacable.

“I don’t hear anything, my lord.”

“I’m not a lord,” said Chuck, and then there was very definitely a small moan from inside the tent. “Castiel?” exclaimed Chuck in alarm, and made to push past the guard, who moved to block him –

\- and Chuck’s arm was seized with surprising strength, he was turned around to come face to face with –

Gabriel.

“You…don’t wanna go in there, champ,” Gabriel advised. 

“But something’s wrong!” Castiel exclaimed. “Castiel’s sick or something!”

“Uhhh no.” Gabriel pretty much marched Chuck in the opposite direction. The little black and white dog had appeared, and nipped at Chuck’s heels to herd him along. “Trust me, everything’s fine. In fact it’s better than fine.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh.” Chuck twigged belatedly: “OH. Well I guess if he’s gonna be the king he needs to get an heir and all. I hope she’s nice.”

“Trust me, Cas is perfectly happy in there,” Gabriel smirked.

Chuck coughed and shifted. 

“So,” Gabriel slung an arm around Chuck’ shoulders and walked him through the camp, nodding every so often at troops he recognized. He led Chuck to his own tent. “We’ve got another day before we make the Glistening Woods, and have to act all quiet and disciplined. What say we get utterly pissed while we have the chance?”

“Sounds good to me,” Chuck said, but noted that though Gabriel matched him cup for cup, the liquor seemed to have no effect on him. Chuck supposed he passed out around midnight, then was roused at dawn, cursing liquor, as the camp marched hard for the forest.

 

*

The Glistening Woods was so called because of the frosts that settled on the branches eight or nine months of the year. The trees were dense evergreens, and from a distance it was all rather lovely – Chuck recalled the view from the turrets of the castle. Up close, it was cold, wet and dark. The Woods were once a stronghold for brigands, but in the early years of the Good King’s reign, most had been rooted out. The scouts reported they were back now, but Chuck supposed he was safe in the middle of a mounted column.  
Well, for now.

Charlie had been riding with Gabriel’s sister, but Anna left them at the border of the woods and returned to run Gabriel’s castle. Chuck pulled his horse up behind Charlie:

“What are you so happy about?”

“Oh….everything,” Charlie said dreamily. “What’s not to be happy about?”

Chuck looked at her sideways. “The…fact we’re about to go into battle?”

“Hmmm.”

Chuck narrowed his eyes. “Are you even listening to me? Are you drunk?”

“Chuck, I am better than drunk.”

Chuck considered. “ _Really_ drunk?”

“I’m not drunk at all,” Charlie rolled her eyes, a little secretive smile on her face. Then, seemingly unable to help herself, she stage-whispered: “ _I’m in love_.”

Oh, crap. Chuck had seen it coming for a while to be honest. He wasn’t totally blind. He knew how these things worked, and really, such an infatuation was as inevitable as it was tragic: “Charlie….if we live, Castiel is going to be King of the North. You’re really nice and all, but be realistic…it wouldn’t work out between you.”

Charlie looked sideways at him, spluttered, then burst out laughing. 

“I’m just trying to help you out,” Chuck huffed.

“Chuck – not – not Castiel,” Charlie shook her head, still laughing. “I – oh – that’s uncomfortable. Chuck, I’m not in love with Castiel.”

“Really?”

 

“Yes, really!”

“Well – then who? Sam? Dean? _Gabriel?_ Charlie, please don’t tell me it’s Gabriel. He’s weird. I don’t know if I trust him-“

“Chuck! It’s not Gabriel. Or Sam, or Dean,” said Charlie patiently.

Chuck wracked his brains. Then: “Ohhh. Oh, um. Charlie. I think you’re really pretty and brave, like, way braver than me. But I just don’t think of you like that. I’m sorry.”

Charlie stared at him. Chuck stared back, until he had to duck at the very last second to avoid a branch in his face. Charlie’s chin quivered. Oh, no. She was going to cry. Chuck  
didn’t know what to do when women cried. Charlie visibly composed herself.

“Well,” she said. “Well Chuck. I suppose I’ll just have to find a way to….carry on living.” Then she spurred her horse and trotted on ahead of him, shoulders shaking a little.  
Chuck sighed. “You’re lucky you’re a horse,” he said to his horse. “Human life is cruel and ironic.”

The horse snorted and tossed it’s mane a little.

 

*

Two advance scouts came riding back with reports that the city was an hour’s hard ride east. Gabriel ordered a halt. After some discussion amongst the people who seemed to know what they were doing, they decided that Castiel, Charlie and Dean would infiltrate the city. Chuck was surprised Dean didn’t want to lead the strike on the city, but he guessed they had Sam and Gabriel for that, and though there was a risk of Dean being recognised by the wrong people, he supposed it was best that Cas left with at least one person who could defend him.

“Have you – ever led an assault before?” Chuck asked Gabriel, as they watched the little party disappear through the trees.

“Once or twice,” said Gabriel.

“Did you – uh – win?” Chuck just wanted some assurance that his new commander could manage an army.

Gabriel looked at him sideways, a dangerous little smile on his lips. “Ever hear of the Siege of Stony Fort?”

“Well – yeah,” said Chuck slowly, “Of course.” The Siege of Stony Fort was famous – a gruelling tale beloved by bloodthirsty children. A large rebel force from the Southern Isles laid siege to the fort in the far west of the Kingdom. It was broken after a month by a masterful counter-attack with low casualties to the smaller loyalist army. The loyalists were led by a mysterious knight all in black, who flew the Good King’s banners and wore no device on his shield or armour. But the story was already old when Chuck was a child.

“No,” he narrowed his eyes, looking at Gabriel. “No way.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t like to brag.” (Frankly, that wasn’t the impression Chuck had of Gabriel so far. As far as he could see, he loved to brag).

“But you’re not old enough,” Chuck objected.

“Oh, pish,” Gabriel waved it off as though Chuck had given him a compliment: “Well you know, I try to keep in shape.”

Chuck stared at the tree boles. Either Gabriel was genius commander – and possibly some kind of wizard – or an inveterate and shameless liar. Or a bit of both. 

“How old _are_ you?” Chuck couldn’t help but ask. He knew he wasn’t talking to Gabriel like a freeman should a lord, but Gabriel seemed to encourage it.

“Old enough to know we can’t do anything now but wait for word from the city. Come on, let’s get drunk and exchange life stories.”

“You didn’t even get drunk last time,” Chuck objected.

“And how would you know? How do you know what I’m like when I’m drunk? Perhaps I’m drunk right now. Perhaps I was drunk at the Siege of the Red Fort, and that’s where I get  
my courage and inspiration.”

“Well I hope your courage and inspiration lasts long enough to get us all through this battle,” Chuck said.

“I shall do my utmost,” said Gabriel with a mocking bow and gestured back to his tent. “After you.”


	15. Charlie

“You look adorable,” said Charlie to Castiel and Dean, who were dressed in a motley assortment of plain borrowed cloaks, shirts and breeches. Both had hoods, and thankfully the wet weather meant they didn’t look suspicious by keeping them up. “Like adorable adventuring secret lovers.”

Dean visibly cringed. “We were going for _ordinary._ ”

“Oh please, you could never look ordinary. Not that either of you are well – my type, but it’s blatantly obvious you’re both significantly better-than-average-looking. You look good together.”

Pause. “Okay,” said Dean. He and Castiel exchanged a look from their positions side-by-side on horseback, and Charlie restrained herself from instructing: “Now kiss.”  
As they left the woods and approached the city, though, her good mood evaporated. Crowley’s standard, a clawed red dragon on a black field, streamed boldly from the tower keep. The city looked dull and smoky, and ugly new steel battlements adorned the walls. They skirted around the Southern gate, in order to look more like travellers just come by the main road. The great gates had been re-fortified, Charlie realized, and were heavily manned by large men wearing Crowley’s dragon on their breastplates. Two immediately stepped forwards and barred their horses with pikes.

“Business?” One demanded.

“My name is Lady Jane of Blackwell,” Charlie pulled out of the air. “I have come to buy thread and silk at the famous cloth market of the city.”

“Market’s gone,” said the guard shortly.

Charlie blinked. “What – gone?” The fine cloth and embroidery of the city was famed throughout the kingdoms, and the weekend market was always a bustling affair.

“His lordship the Protector of the Realm put a stop to all that when it seemed like some treasonous folk were using the market to conspire against him.”

“Well – then I shall buy at the guild house,” Charlie said.

“Out of business,” said the guard.

Charlie stared. “Well – we’ve come all this way…I suppose I will go call upon my associates at their homes.”

“Suit yourself,” said the guard, shrugging, checked them all quickly for weapons, then gestured to his fellows to unbar the gates. “Curfew’s nightfall. By order of his Lordship, any  
unauthorized persons found on the streets after dark will be arrested.”

Charlie nodded. They slowly rode through the gates and into the city. 

It was worse than she’d imagined. Homes and businesses alike were in disarray. The busy stalls that once crowded the streets were all but gone. The common folk they caught sight of were skinny and dirty, with looks of fear and eyes quickly averted. The cobblestones were dirty and in need of repair. Dark smoke clouded the sky.  
In stark contrast to the hungry commons, strong men on horseback patrolled wearing Crowley’s livery. They were armed with pikes and swords. Charlie recognized a few of them from her days at court, and from the dark looks Dean was shooting them, so did he.

They stopped at the first open tavern they found:

“I need a drink,” said Dean.

“Is that wise?” said Castiel.

“One drink,” said Dean. 

“So couple-y,” Charlie whispered.

The bar was almost deserted, fire banked low, and the serving woman wouldn’t meet their eyes.

“Two silvers,” she requested.

“For a _beer?”_ Dean exclaimed.

“It’s the new taxes,” the woman shrugged. “You must be visitors.”

“We just got here,” said Charlie.

“Take my advice,” the woman whispered, and looked quickly back and forth. A small group of Crowley’s men were huddled around the fire. But they were distracted with their food and drink, laughing loudly. “Don’t stay.” Then she looked petrified of her own words, and hurried back to the bar.

Dean made a face as he tasted the beer then pushed it across to Cas. 

“I do not like beer,” said Castiel.

“This isn’t beer,” said Dean.

Castiel tasted sipped delicately from the tankard. “Primarily water,” he surmised.

“Well?” said Dean, tilting his head in the direction of the barkeep.

Castiel blinked blue eyes at him.

“Go sound her out!” Dean said. “She’s clearly a dissenter. Which means she might know other dissenters.”

“I….would not wish to bring harm upon the good woman,” Cas looked doubtful. Charlie knew what he was feeling, but still…to take back the North they would have to endanger some innocents. She surprised herself with her hardness. She also surprised herself by thinking of the true king as ‘Cas’.

“Come on,” she said, pulling him up by one hand. “Let’s go see what’s what.” They went up to the bar, and Dean followed a few paces behind. He was keeping one eye on the men by the fire. The barkeep clearly didn’t want to talk, and busied herself scrubbing the already-clean bar as they approached.

“My good woman,” Cas bowed, and Charlie butted in before he could say anything else:

“Have you a room for the night?”

“Oh yes,” said the barkeep. “Several.”

“Business not so hot?” asked Dean. 

She smiled nervously: “We’re getting by.”

“Could you show us?” Charlie asked. “The rooms, I mean.”

“Just a moment.” The barkeep put her cloth away, and called a young man, probably her son, to come out and man the bar while she took guests upstairs. They climbed a curved flight of wooden steps. 

“This is our largest guest room. It will sleep four.” She showed them into a plain neat chamber. “My apologies for the dust, my lords, I will summon my daughter to clean if you like it.”

“No one been here for a while?” asked Dean casually.

The barkeep looked down. It was now or never. Charlie shrugged, looked at Dean and Cas, then closed and bolted the chamber door. The woman looked up, frightened:

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Charlie said quickly. “We just want to talk.”

“A – about what?”

“Crowley. The way he’s running the city.”

“My Lord Protector holds the city safe until the rightful king returns,” the woman mumbled, looking at her feet.

“Your king has returned,” said Castiel, with a dramatic touch Charlie approved of, and threw back his hood.

The woman stared at him.

“Here,” said Cas helpfully.

She stared some more. Charlie had to admit that Castiel wasn’t looking his most kingly. They were all grimy from the road, and he badly needed a shave. The hood had made his  
hair stick up in all directions. He reminded Charlie of a picture she’d once seen – a little furry bear from the Southern Isles that clung in the tree branches.

“I am Castiel, true King of the North. My father was the Good King, who was murdered by treachery. I come to claim my inheritance. With me is the famous Knight, Sir Dean of Winchester, and Charlie Bradbury, a good woman of my Household.”

Dean lowered his hood, and the barkeep’s eyes went from him to Castiel and back and again. Charlie saw recognition set in.

“Oh!” the woman gasped, and went to her knees. “I – my king – I didn’t….”

“Please, rise,” Castiel said, and helped her gallantly.

“But – forgive me your Grace, you honour my establishment – but – why are you not at the castle? Taking your rightful throne? The city needs you!”

“Alas, I fear it is not so simple,” said Castiel.

“Basically, Crowley,” said Dean.

“He is grown very powerful,” the woman nodded, wide-eyed.

“He’s ruined the city,” said Dean.

That seemed to unleash the floodgates.

“It’s been terrible,” said the woman in rush. “Folks aren’t safe in their own homes. There’s no trade and people are losing their livelihoods – Crowley has spies everywhere. He’s put loyal men to the sword – men loyal to the Eagle….but there’s others,” she added quickly. “Common folk too.”

“I would not have men die for me where it can be avoided,” said Cas gently. “The best thing would be to get word to the castle that I have returned. Then, those who are loyal must be ready to turn and fight for me when my when my army enters the city.”

“You have an army?!” exclaimed the woman, then closed her mouth fast, probably alarmed by her volume.

“A small army,” Dean admitted. “But it will serve, if at least a fair portion of the garrison join us.”

“I don’t know any men of the garrison,” the woman said. “But my husband’s nephew is a squire. Pray stay the night, Sirs – and , Lady – and I shall make enquiries.”

Castiel bowed again, and she blushed. “Have you a raven, my lady, that we might send word to my army beyond the walls?”

“Ravens aren’t allowed,” the woman shook her head. “Crowley’s men take all the messages back and forth.”

“Ugh,” Charlie sat on the edge of the bunk and put her head in her hands. “You’d think the forces of Right and Good would get a break once in a while.”

“Yet steel is forged by trial and fire,” said Cas.

“Good one,” Dean approved: “Write that down.”

“I am practicing metaphors,” Castiel confided to Charlie. “For when I must address the people as their King, and such.”

“I will send my daughter to wait on you,” said the woman, and left them to the chamber.

 

tbc


	16. Chuck

Chuck missed Charlie. He supposed she was the first friend he'd ever had, really. Perhaps he ought not to have been so dismissive of her crush on him. Clearly, he had broken her heart. and now she'd gone off with Dean and the prince right into the dragon's den, and he'd probably never see her again. He sucked. He sat on a rock and drew patterns in the wet leaves with his stick, hoping nobody talked to him.

Gabriel spent the next few days jesting and gaming with his bannermen. He let them drink as much as they pleased, but expected them to fulfil their duties regardless – one morning a young archer overslept and missed his turn on watch. Gabriel had him stripped and dunked in the icy river. Next time, he warned the men cheerfully, there'd be a flogging.

Chuck watched the sky for birds, hoping every day for news from the city. No birds came. On the fourth day, however, Chuck was perched on his rock whittling wood just to occupy his hands, when the sound of a horse through the trees made him spring up.

"Someone's coming!" he called. Bandits? Others on watch were already drawing up, hands on weapons as they faced the sound in a loose formation. Gabriel came and stood casually at the front, posture relaxed but with one hand near the hilt of his greatsword.

"Who goes there?" he called.

A pair of strong destriers galloped into the clearing, and their riders pulled up to halt: a knight and his squire. Chuck gasped. The knight worse no device, but he recognised him from his days at court, grey-haired and middle-aged: he'd been there the night of the coup, Chuck recalled, and done – well, not much, that Chuck had seen.

"Lord Gabriel?" the knight asked, dismounting.

"Yes?" said Gabriel pertly.

Both men knelt. "I come with news from the City. There are men willing to open the gates to the true King's army tonight."

"And you would be?" asked Gabriel.

"My name is Ser Steven Wandell," said the man. "I am a knight of the castle guard, though of no particular renown. This is my squire Mathias."

"Well Ser Steven Wandell, knight of the castle guard," Gabriel did not invite the man to rise. "I can't help but wonder what possessed you to betray your rightful king, serve the usurper, then turn your back yet again and come over to your side?"

Chuck smothered a protest. He really didn't like to look a gift horse in the mouth, as it were, but he supposed Gabriel had more experience at surviving politics than he did.

"I never served Crowley in my heart," said Wandell fervently, "But as I say, my lord, I am an ordinary soldier. I have no particular strength or influence. In my small way, I sought to disrupt Crowley's plans and workings as best I might. But were I to oppose him openly, I would only have lost my head and in no way served the true king."

"Some would say you should serve with your loyalty, though it cost you your life," said Gabriel, and Wandell looked stricken. Then Gabriel went on: "I, however, would not. I have greater use for a live soldier than an honourable corpse. Rise, Ser, and accompany me to the command tent. Coming, Chuck?"

Chuck nodded and hurried after Gabriel and his retinue. They escorted Wandell and Mathias to the command tent and let him sit and drink, while a squire took their horses to be fed and watered. Gabriel questioned him closely on the state of the city, and the whereabouts of his cousin.

"I have not seen the King," Wandell admitted. "But the city buzzes with the word of his return. My squire has seen him." The squire, a boy of twelve or so, nodded fervently. "Crowley has men out searching in secret."

"What is Crowley's strength?" Gabriel asked.

"I cannot lie, my lord – the usurper has bought many men with gold and favours. He goes about with a strong bodyguard of knights. Ser Rufus and Ser Creedy are his men," said Wandell. "Their influence has spread to many knights. Besides which, the people are in fear of him, and some say the returned King is an imposter." He looked stricken, then, as though he had damned himself out of his own mouth.

"Well, I suppose one can't blame them," Gabriel shrugged. Wandell had brought a map out of the city, and they studied it together. A straight road led from the gate to the east road to the citadel. There were inns and barracks along the road.

"Some will waylay us there, and some will join us," said Wandell.

"And some we will kill," said the captain of Gabriel's guard.

"Indeed," said Gabriel mildly. "Well, Ser Wandell, you have had a hard ride. Pray take your ease – the security of my camp is yours. We leave at dusk. Dispatch your squire back to the city – let him visit the inns on the straight road, and have the loyal people ready."

It was still early afternoon, but oddly, Chuck found himself perfectly able to sleep at Gabriel's advice. Perhaps it was the hangover. 'I shouldn't drink so much,' he thought. It was an odd, abrupt thought, something he had never before considered. 'After the war,' he sort-of promised himself. 'Maybe I'll – cut down. For Charlie, if not for me'. She was in love with him, after all. It would be cruel to make her watch him drink himself into an early grave.

Midnight found them saddled up and ready.

"Chuck," Gabriel gestured with his head for Chuck to come to the front of the host with him.

"Really?" asked Chuck.

"More guards," Gabriel promised.

They set off at a sedate pace, putting stealth before speed, and full night had fell when they reached the border of the woods, close on the edge of the city.

"I will ride ahead," Wandell said, "And tell them we are come."

Gabriel nodded. Wandell spurred his horse on and disappeared into the darkness. The Eastern gate loomed abruptly, hard and dark. Chuck was quite sure that Wandell had abandoned them, and the guards would immediately sound the alarm and engage them. Instead, the helmed men at their posts inclined their heads to Gabriel, and opened the gates.

Just inside, three of their brother guards lay dead – Crowley's men, clearly. Chuck gulped. He'd seen a few fresh corpses in his time, most recently the assassins in the woods, but one here had a lance sticking right through his throat, jutting obscenely to the sky. A rider next to Chuck pulled the lance out, and the body jerked. He wiped it off and admired it:

"Good metal."

Chuck felt kind of sick.

The city was silent and still by night. Wandell had explained about Crowley's curfew, but it was still very strange to see the streets so dark and silent, even here in the outskirts. As they came to the first inn, and the edge of the settlement proper, Gabriel commanded the banners be raised.

"Now we shall see what is what," he said with a gleam in his eye.

It seemed the squire had done his work, as a handful of common folk and two men-at-arms hurried out of the inn.

"There's been fighting already, my lord," said one of the knights. "We killed two as was loyal to the usurper and they killed two of ours. A third got off – he is run to the citadel, my lord. Crowley's host will soon be upon us."

"Eh, had to happen sooner or later," Gabriel said. "Well – drums!"

They threw secrecy to the wind, then, and rode hard. Folk came pouring out of the buildings as they passed them, some to join and some to assail them with arrows and axes – one idiot boy thought to spear Gabriel right through his breastplate apparently, and the captain of the guard cut him down. And then a cloud of what looked like dust appeared on the straight road before them, and a rumbling sound in Chuck's ears became the thundering of hooves, and then Crowley's host were coming on to meet them, with dragon banners flying.

"Stay close," said Gabriel amiably to Chuck, then raised his sword and cried, "CHARGE!"


	17. Both

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A split POV for this, the penultimate chapter.

Charlie

“My lords!” gasped the squire, almost falling over the doorframe in his haste. “Lord Gabriel and his riders approach the city.”

“We will meet them on the straight road,” said Castiel, standing. 

“No,” said Dean. He looked around at their assembled ‘army’: forty or so men-at-arms squashed into the storeroom of an inn, plus twenty or thirty townsfolk with various weapons. “If we have word, Crowley may have word. We cannot afford to meet him the field.”

“But the people need to see Castiel!” Charlie objected.

“It is my place, Dean,” said Castiel. “What manner of King asks men to fight for him and will not   
join them?”

“I don’t mean that,” said Dean frustrated. “I’m just saying, we can’t afford to go running down the straight road in the open. We’ll go by the fields, secretly, and send archers to pick off Crowley’s knights if we see any. We’ll circle around and right meet Gabriel’s rear.”

Charlie snickered. Castiel looked at her blankly.

“Rear,” she explained.

“A king should fight at the front of a host,” Castiel said to Dean. Some of the soldiers rumbled agreement.

“Yeah well,” Dean looked uncomfortable. “Let’s _get_ to said host without getting killed first.”

“There is wisdom in discretion, your Grace,” said an older knight. “There will be no shortage of valiant deeds to be done when battle is joined.”

“Stay safe Charlie,” Dean stood up and refastened his cloak over his chainmail shirt. 

“You’re not leaving me,” frowned Charlie.

“Uh yeah we are,” Dean said.

“A battle is no place for you, my Lady,” said the knight.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Charlie said. “But I’m not about to just sit here and do nothing. There are many buildings along the straight road. I’m a good enough shot. Give me a bow, and I’ll help pick off Crowley’s men from a window above the fray.”

“You could get shot back,” said Dean.

“Excuse me, Ser Dean, but whose adventure is this?”

“You should not seek to dissuade a noble heart, Dean,” said Cas.

“Yeah,” said Charlie.

“Well,” Dean shrugged: “It’s not like I can exactly stop you.”

“We have bows here, my Lady.” One of the men-at-arms directed her to the small store they had gathered. Charlie picked out a longbow of appropriate size, and flexed it. The others picked their weapons, then the whole group left by a door at the back of the inn and skirted around to the farmlands. As they moved parallel to the straight road, the sounds of fighting and tumult rose to their ears. They picked up speed.

When they reached city walls were in sight, Charlie and a few other townsfolk who would be best served as archers slipped off to enter the inns by the back doors. She ought to say something profound now, about her faith in them and the outcome of battle. 

“So, see you after,” she said.

“See you after, Charlie Bradbury,” Cas inclined his head to her. Dean gave her an awkward,   
affectionate thump on one shoulder.

Each archer chose a different building, to better spread their assault. The cries of battle were loud and close now, clashing, grating and shouts, and she hurried up to the back door of an inn that appeared deserted. When she entered, she saw that was not so – women, children and old men were huddled scared under tables and in corners, and the innkeeper, and old man, was hovering at the front of the main room with an ancient pike in his hands. They all jumped when Charlie clattered in, then relaxed, judging her no threat.

“Come shelter here, child,” offered a woman from under an oak table.

“That’s okay,” Charlie said, and ran up the stairs, heading for a room with front-facing windows. She gulped, braced herself, then opened the shutters just enough to see and fire out.

The wide straight road was in chaos of battle. Gabriel’s banners were raised on her left side, and Crowley’s on her right. She swallowed. Then she raised her bow and sighted on a knight wearing dragon livery. He was lightly armoured for movability, and she aimed for the gap at his back as he reached forward.

She shot him.

The knight tumbled out of saddle, dead or alive, and was sucked beneath the melee of horses hooves.

Charlie stood, frozen for just a second.

Then she strung her bow again.

 

*

She would never know how long it went on for. It could have been minutes or hours. Her arms burned from continuous shooting. She saw Cas and Dean and their followers join the fight, and Crowley’s forces press them back towards the gate. Archers from along the street harried Crowley’s men, but it wasn’t enough – Gabriel’s troops were falling. ‘We can’t win’, Charlie thought, a cold sudden weight: ‘They are going to beat us’. Desperately, she sought Crowley amongst the field, but if he was there, he was hiding. His bannerman had fallen, but another had taken up the dragon flag, and his knights rallied around it.

Then a horn blew in the east. Charlie turned, and there, coming down the straight road, rode reinforcements from the castle. Her heart sank. This was it. But – what? Yes! The banners they flew were not Dragon but Eagle, and the heralds at the fore shouted, 

“CASTIEL! THE KING OF THE NORTH!”

They fell on Crowley’s masses from behind, and half turned, caught between the hammer and the anvil. Gabriel pressed the advantage. The archers in the windows cheered, and Crowley’s men began to panic. From there, the tide of the battle turned. Charlie turned away from the window. In the road, Crowley’s men were yielding or dying. The people were cheering for the return of the king.

‘We did it’, she thought, shocked and not feeling much of anything for the moment: ‘We restored the King.’

 

Chuck. 

 

Chuck was alive.

That was the first thing he realized when Crowley’s banners folded. He was still alive. His arm was throbbing unmercifully from a glancing blow with a mace, and every muscle in his body ached – but he was alive, and the battle was over.

And they’d won.

Probably, he reflected later, the fact he’d been hanging back at the edge of the fighting had helped a lot with the living, that and the timely intervention of the young knight loyal to Castiel who led the sortie from the city. The youth had the unusual name of Ser Samandriel. Now, he gazed up at the King in starry-eyed adoration as Castiel bestowed a lordship on him in recognition of his service. Dean, resplendent in full armour at Castiel’s right hand, was for some reason glaring hard at the boy. Perhaps he was jealous, surmised Chuck, despite the fact it was Dean himself who had finally killed Crowley. After a thorough search, the usurper was discovered cowering in the highest tower of the castle keep, and even Castiel agreed he could not be allowed to live.

Directly after his coronation, Castiel forgave every man who had served Crowley, provided he knelt and swore fealty to the Eagle. Then he declared Crowley’s private storehouses be opened, and there were stockpiles of meats, grain and fruits, honey and wine, cheeses and breads. He gave a great feast (at Gabriel’s prompting), for everyone in the city, and now he held an audience in the throne room to bestow lands on titles on those who had served him battle. Dean stood at his right hand and Sam at his left - Gabriel was around somewhere, but had declined to take any part in the ceremony, claiming it would be boring. It was kind of boring. Until:

“Charles of the House Shurley,” called Castiel: “Step forth.” He was seated on a dais in the throne room of the keep, every inch the King in the North. Chuck was standing next to Charlie, who gave him a little shove forwards. Chuck went to his knees before the dais.

“For your loyal service and bravery,” Castiel said, “I would make you a knight of the Northlands.”   
Chuck’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t help but sneak a glance back over his shoulder, to where his lord father and brothers were standing, looking frankly amazed.

“Do you swear to serve the crown faithfully,” Castiel intoned, and Chuck felt the flat edge of a blade of his shoulder, “to defend your king, to give your life for the realm if necessary, and do aught that honour demand of you, in the name of the Eagle and the North?”

“Um,” said Chuck. It was a ridiculous promise. But at that moment, with the eyes of his family upon him and Charlie, who had seen him (sort of) fight, standing and watching and believing him the man he would never in a million years be, there was only one answer: “Yes. I swear.”

“Then arise, Ser Chuck of the Northlands,” Castiel lifted the blade and Chuck stood, beaming, the crowd cheering in his ears and calling,

“Ser Chuck!”

 

TBC


	18. Both

Charlie.

Charlie stood on the balcony of her new chambers, looking out at the bright streets of the capital. Colour and life had been restored to the city, and the first promises of spring were just tangible in the air. Knights below displayed Eagle colours proudly, and the smallfolk bustled about their business. Children were playing at whipping tops.  
She ought to feel ecstatic. Instead, she felt a little empty. Part of it was the things she had done during the battle – killing people, to be frank – and part of it was the sense that the end of the story ought to have more justice.

Almost as if in answer to her thoughts, there was a soft knock at the chamber door.

“Come in,” she called, surprised. Chuck had been busy with his new knightly duties, Gabriel was doing whatever he did, and Castiel and Sam, as his new chief advisor, were fully occupied with running the kingdom. Dean was appointed captain of the new Kingsguard. Castiel and Dean were also occupied with, well, each other.  
The last person she expected to see, and the first she would have hoped for, entered and inclined her head.

“Anna!” Charlie exclaimed.

“My lady,” Anna smiled. She looked as beautiful as ever – possibly more – simply dressed in a green gown with a deep red belt that brought out the colour of her hair.

“Please, um, sit,” Charlie flushed, clearing a space and wondering how she’d already managed to clutter up her new rooms. “I did not know you were still in the city. Can I pour you some wine?”

“Please,” said Anna. “I have decided to stay a while. I thought I would take the chance to know my cousin a little better. Amongst other people.” She held Charlie’s eyes, still smiling warmly. Charlie absolutely forced herself not to spill the wine.

“I heard about your deeds in battle,” Anna said. “You were very brave.”

“Well,” Charlie dismissed. “You know, I didn’t really _do_ anything, I just fired from a window, and well, I’m not a soldier like-“

“Charlie.” Anna stopped her. She reached out and touched Charlie’s hand. “I think you were brave. Take the compliment.”

Charlie swallowed. She held Anna’s eyes for a long moment, and her heart was full and her stomach fluttered. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I also think it’s very unfair,” Anna went on quietly, “That Chuck gets a knighthood, and the men get lands, but you can’t.”

“I suppose,” Charlie murmured. “But I don’t want a knighthood.”

“What do you want?” Anna asked intently, leaning in.

Pause.

“The fair maiden,” Charlie whispered, leaning in herself:

A slow smile spread over Anna’s face. “Well,” she said. “I have it on good authority that the maiden feels the same way.”

And then they were kissing, tasting of sweet wine, and Charlie realised it wasn’t the ending after all, but only –

\- the beginning.

 

Chuck.

 

“So, great news!” Charlie came running up at Chuck’s side and took his good arm. “Anna and I found a priest willing to perform the ceremony in secret.”

“What ceremony?” Chuck asked, moving his book out of the way before Charlie could crumple it. He’d found that reading kept his mind off booze, and having his arm sprained in battle gave him an excuse not to train at arms, so he was spending a fair bit of time in the library lately. He liked books. He had even thought he might write a book, now that he’d had an adventure and all, and was quite frequently sober.

“For Cas and Dean,” she said.

“I repeat – what ceremony?”

“Their _marriage_ ceremony, of course.”

Chuck’s brain travelled around in a loop and came up blank.

“Huh?” he said at last.

“We’ll do it in the forest, just outside the city – oooh, at midnight! Won’t that be romantic? With the moonlight on the leaves and everything. Sam’s gonna be Dean’s best man and Gabriel will stand for Cas – he promised to slip away when we’ve arranged everything. I’m gonna be the ringbearer and-“

“Charlie,” Chuck shook his head. “I don’t understand. Who’s getting married now?”

Charlie stared at him. “Cas…” she said slowly. “And Dean. Who else?”

Chuck entirely failed to comprehend the sentence. “But,” he said at last. “They’re both men.”

“I just said we found a priest who’s going to do it! Apparently in the old days it wasn’t even that unusual. Wait,” something dawned over her face as she watched him. “Chuck are you telling me….no….you didn’t…oh I’m so sorry,” Charlie started giggling. “Oh no, I shouldn’t have said anything. But Chuck, you’ve been travelling with them for months. You’ve fought a battle with them. How could you – you still didn’t _know_?”

Slowly, and with an almost-audible cranking, the pieces slotted into place in Chuck’s mind. ‘I suppose my brother would die before he let Cas take a scratch….trust me champ you don’t want to go in there. _Go in there_ '.

“Cas,” he said slowly. “Castiel, the King. And Dean. Cas and Dean. Are an item.”

Charlie looked anguished suddenly, “Oh, you won’t tell anyone? It’s just I thought you already knew, I mean, they’re not exactly subtle, and we’ve all been through so much together-“

“Charlie, Charlie,” Chuck shook his head, holding one hand up. “It’s – good for them. I’m happy for them. And I won’t tell anyone.”

“Not even when you’re drunk?” she narrowed her eyes.

“I’ve actually been drunk a lot less lately, if you’ve noticed.” He considered adding, ‘for you’ , but decided there was plenty of time for all that.

“You know, you have,” said Charlie. “Awesome job, Chuck. So – you’re all – cool with it? About Dean and Cas?”

Chuck shrugged. “Charlie, if we’re going to hell for everything the priests say is a sin, I most definitely do not have room to judge anyone.”

“Oh,” Charlie blew her breath out. “Well in that case, I suppose I have something else to tell you.”

 

*

From

\- The Chronicles of The Restoration of the King of the North –

 

By Ser Charles of the House Shurley.

 

(A book).

And so it was that the King of the North wed the good knight Ser Dean Winchester, and there was much rejoicing amongst the people. Or at least, there would have been much rejoicing, had the people known about it. Probably some would have rejoiced. Others might not have rejoiced, or even declared that such a thing could not be, or was gross and all, but they have no part in this chronicle.

The ceremony was conducted at midnight, and was witnessed by the noble knight Ser Charles, the pride of his House, who had done many valiant deeds, and also the fair lady Charlie Bradbury and her consort the Lady Anna, cousin to the King. (Charlie did truthfully love Ser Charles, but seeing that alas he had full relegated her to the friendzone, being pure of heart, she did wisely transfer her affections to Lady Anna, who returned them in full). Ser Dean did play the maiden’s part, of which he complained mightily, but to be honest someone had to cloak somebody else and Ser Sam and Ser Gabriel agreed it was not meet that the new King should kneel to his knight. Also there was Lord Gabriel’s noble hound, and a parrot, but the parrot was relegated to the wheelhouse, for it loudly abused all the party.

And lo there was feasting and merriment. But quietly.

They all returned to the citadel, and Lord Gabriel departed back to his holdfast. But for love of Charlie, Lady Anna did remain, and the king did appoint her to his council, for she was full wise.

And so the brave Ser Charles did undertake to write the chronicles of their adventures, which here concludes, in hope and good faith that all of them would live happily ever after.

 

~ The End. ~


End file.
